


The Thing with Feathers

by floorcoaster



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, marriage law
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-11-20 00:37:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11325009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floorcoaster/pseuds/floorcoaster
Summary: A story in which there is a Marriage Law, Hermione is convicted of sedition, and the Quibbler saves the day.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Harry Potter and his world belong to JK Rowling. I am not writing to make money. This is all for fun.

The Things with Feathers

Summary: In which there is a Marriage Law, Hermione is convicted of sedition, and the Quibbler saves the day.

 

**PROLOGUE**

Hermione knew the value of having a contingency plan. From the first moment she’d heard about the proposed legislation, she’d started researching her options. Within a day, she had a rough plan outlined.

The weeks leading up to the vote, she protested. She sat in on meeting after meeting, listening to the reasons _for_ so she could effectively argue _against_. The Minister of Magic quickly tired of seeing her on an almost daily basis.

On the day of the vote, she’d gone into Muggle London. She’d sat in her favorite park, pretending to read but just people-watching instead. She was so distracted she couldn’t enjoy the fall colors or the bite in the air of early September. After dark, she went to the Burrow. One look at Harry and she had her answer. So she said goodbye to her best friends and left England.

 

**CHAPTER 1**

**April 19**

It was a warm, spring day. Flowers were in full bloom, the market was bustling, and the sun was shining on the two rivers that met at the foot of a hill to begin their journey together to the Mediterranean. 

Hermione was sitting at her favorite table at her favorite café, staring at the Saône, her favorite of the two rivers. She had a book open, but she was too busy enjoying the gently blowing breeze and the sounds of people buying and selling to pay attention to it.

She had called Lyon, France, her home for a little over six months. It hadn’t taken her long to feel as welcome there as she had in England, and now she was thriving. Of course she missed her friends, but her firm resolve helped ease the pain. 

Hermione watched a family stroll by, remarking on the pedestrian bridge that spanned the water. She smiled and took a sip of her tea.

As she set the cup down, a shadow fell on the tabletop. Before she could be too alarmed, her visitor spoke.

“You are a very difficult woman to find.” Draco Malfoy then unceremoniously slid into the seat opposite her, ruining her view. The sense of calm she’d felt moments before was shattered.

 

She blinked at him once, swallowed her astonishment, and took a sip of tea. “I wasn’t aware I was lost.”

“Hiding, then,” he said dismissively. “Whatever you need to call it. The lengths I had to go to in order to locate you….” He trailed off, leaned back in the chair, and thrummed his fingers on the table. “Took me three months— _three_ —to convince your friends to give me your parents’ names. Just names, mind you. Absolutely nothing else.”

Hermione could tell that he’d been preparing this rant for a while. She did her best to feign utter indifference, though she felt unnerved by his sudden appearance. 

“Then I had to figure out where they live, go there, ingratiate myself to them so that they would help me. Another six weeks and I got one word. Lyon.” He rested his arms on the table and leaned toward her. “Do you _know_ how many Lyons there are?”

Hermione quirked an eyebrow, quite amused. 

“Not many. But still! Then another month to find you. Here.” He gestured erratically. “In France. Having tea on the Saône.”

She fought a smile and folded her hands. “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes!” he stated emphatically, slapping a hand on the table and leaning back in his seat once more. 

Hermione motioned for a waitress and started to speak but Draco took over.

“Maison de thé, s’il vous plait,” he said.

Hermione looked at him with practiced surprise.

“I know French,” he said, as though offended she would think otherwise.

“Of course you do,” she said nonchalantly. She spread her hands out. “Well, you’ve found me. What do you want with me?”

Draco studied her for a moment, as though unsure how to proceed. In all of his practicing in the mirror, she guessed he hadn’t really gotten this far. “After all this time, I’m not sure how to begin.”

Hermione nodded and drank from her cup. Draco’s tea arrived then, and he prepared it in his usual way: two lumps sugar, cream. 

“Why not just send an owl and, I don’t know, ask?” she said.

“This isn’t something I can do via letter,” he replied. He took a few leisurely sips of tea. “I’m here to take you back,” he said leisurely, not looking at her.

This time, she couldn’t hide her surprise and set down her cup, which she’d been in the process of bringing to her lips. “Excuse me?”

“Back to England,” he said, as though that were all he needed to say.

Hermione gaped inelegantly a moment more, then shook her head. “I’m terribly sorry, but it would appear you’ve wasted a great deal of time in finding me. I’m not going back to England until they repeal that ridiculous law.”

“I’d hardly call it ridiculous, Granger. It—”

“Of course it is,” she interrupted, all the fire she’d thought had mellowed rekindled in an instant. “What right does the Ministry—or any government—have to tell me, or anyone, who to marry? It’s absurd. It’s medieval. It’s—it’s just wrong! I refuse.”

Draco leaned forward again and cast a _Muffliato_ spell. “It’s not absurd. They have a good reason for enacting the law. The Squib rate over the last few decades is alarming.”

“I know all of their reasons, Malfoy,” she snapped heatedly. “I went to every single bloody meeting they held, asked every question possible. Too many Squibs born to pure-bloods, so they’re forcing people to mix blood.”

He set his jaw. “Because they know it will work,” he responded. Hermione could tell he’d done his research, apparently with the aim of convincing her. “It’s not the first time—” 

“I’m well aware of the precedent,” she interrupted. She’d done her own research of course, before the law was passed. “In 1323, a marriage law was enacted, and the incidence of Squib births dropped significantly. The same thing in 1756.”

Draco nodded confidently. “So it’s a good law.”

Hermione shook her head. “It’s a sticking plaster.”

He frowned. “Sorry, a what?”

“Spell-O-Tape,” she translated. “It doesn’t solve the problem of _why_ there’s an increase in Squibs.”

“I … don’t follow.”

She huffed. “The Marriage Law only serves to force people who wouldn’t normally have children to do so, in wedlock. The problem, Draco, is the blood prejudice behind it. Pure-bloods stick to their kind, leaving half-bloods and Muggleborns together. Your lot starts having Squibs, and suddenly there’s a crisis and it’s everyone’s problem.”

He looked like a deer caught in the headlights. It gave her only mild satisfaction; she wished she didn’t have to spoon-feed him information that she thought was completely intuitive.

“It’s all some weird, magical genetics, but Draco…” She leaned forward now, too. “Think about it. What does a marriage law really say?”

She watched him think about it. He was smart; he’d get it. Finally, comprehension dawned. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Unbelievable. I need something quite a bit stronger than tea.”

Hermione smiled sadly. “The wizarding world _needs_ Muggles to survive. It needs people like me to continue to exist. And yet, blood superiority is so rampant. Most of the Wizengamot would rather vomit slugs than admit it. Why do you think we keep needing a Marriage Law? Because marriage laws don’t fix the problem.” 

He sat there for a minute, thinking hard. She recognized the expression on his face, the way his brow furrowed just so. Then he looked at her with determination in his eyes. “But that’s exactly why you should come back with me. You’re right, the wizarding world needs you. They need you to say exactly what you just said to me.”

She waved dismissively. “Please. They’re never going to understand. It would require everyone to change, to understand. People have been saying it for many years, I’m not the first. I tried to tell them before they passed the law, but no one really listened. They don’t see it, they don’t want to understand. Because they don’t want to admit that everything they’ve ever believed is wrong.” 

Draco’s jaw was set. “There is no one better to do this than you.”

She laughed wryly and tilted her head. “If I come back, they will force me to marry. They’ve already convicted me of crimes against the government, for sedition. They accused me of disturbing their precious peace, and all because I pointed out the hypocrisy in their line of thinking. If I come back, I’ll have to _apologize_ to them, and no matter how much I hate it, I would have to marry. I wholeheartedly, entirely refuse.”

Draco looked down, took a sip of tea, looked back at her, the confidence in his eyes wavering. “Do you … do you know? Who put in for you?”

She dropped her eyes quickly to avoid keeping his gaze. “I … I know you did.”

“You do.”

Hermione nodded, wrapping her hands around her teacup. “Ginny told me. At some point. I can’t remember when.”

Then she looked up at him, all remorse for any pain she may have caused him gone, all embarrassment gone. She thought she understood now. “If you need me to sign some paper so that you’re free from that obligation, I’d be happy to. Just tell me where to sign.”

He looked at her incredulously and then shook his head. “No, you—you don’t understand. I’m not trying to get out of this… situation… I don’t want just somebody. I wanted you.”

“Oh!” she gasped, startled at the revelation. “Draco—”

“Think about it.” He leaned on the table, and it hurt her heart to realize that this was something he had rehearsed as well. “We’re good together; we worked well together, we got along. We were friends.”

It was true; they’d been partnered together in the Strange Cases Department of the MLE for over a year before the law was passed. In that time, they had developed an excellent working relationship that had started to spill over into their personal lives as well. 

“Just because we were excellent partners and worked very well together doesn’t mean we belong together, that we’re meant to be together. I want to marry because love is at least _part_ of the equation.” 

He gave her a weary look.

She continued. “It doesn’t mean we have what it takes to make it… that we should get married, for Merlin’s sake.”

Draco scowled and glanced around as though looking for something. “No, I suppose not, but better me than someone you don’t even know, right?”

Hermione crossed her arms. “If my choice was between you and someone I didn’t know, then yes, I suppose you would be better.” 

He scowled and scraped at something on the table with a fingernail. “Gee. Thanks.”

She huffed. “You know what I mean! It’s irrelevant to even discuss it. Because I am not going back to England.”

She could see a battle raging in his mind; over what, she couldn’t begin to guess. “What if … what if the one who wanted you … was in love with you? Hypothetically speaking,” he added hastily.

Hermione froze. Draco wasn’t … he couldn’t be … in _love_ with her. Could he? No, they just got on well, and now he was trying to play to her emotions. It was impossible for his feelings to be so deep. Wasn’t it? Only… what if they were? No. She refused to consider the possibility that his feelings were genuine. They were merely the product of the heightened drama surrounding the law. Still, she hated feeling sorry for him, hated even more that she had to cause him more pain. “Oh, Draco. I could have been engaged to you when the law was passed, and I still would have left.”

The barest hint of pain flashed across his face, covered quickly by incredulity. “Why?”

She went on quickly, hoping to barrel past his almost-confession and never return to it. “Because my protest, my refusal, my leaving, is not about the timing of the law. Even if I’d just _happened_ to be engaged when the law went into effect, like with Ron, it doesn’t change the the fact that the government is controlling my future. And I refuse.”

“We could have eloped, as soon as we heard about this law.”

She shook her head. This conversation was too surreal. “But, Draco, we didn’t elope. We weren’t engaged. We weren’t even together. The law is in place, and this is a theoretical, irrelevant scenario.” She could see in his eyes that he disagreed, that he wanted to keep arguing, keep trying to convince her. For him, this was very relevant. For her… But she couldn’t entertain thoughts of more. What would be the point? 

He needed to quell these thoughts and feelings for her, and the sooner, the better. “I … I’ll sign something,” she offered. “I’ll do whatever I need to do to release you. I know the deadline is approaching.” She’d always planned to buy a very nice Côtes du Rhône wine and drink it alone in her flat on the night of the mandated wedding. She hadn’t stuck around to learn the details, but she knew it had to be soon. Why else would he be here?

Draco met her gaze and held it with surprising confidence. As though he hadn’t just almost told her he was in love with her. “That’s not what I want,” he said calmly, clearly.

“What will you do?” she asked, hoping to deflect his line of thinking. She also had to break their gaze, and she did so by taking a sip of her tea. “If you don’t marry, won’t you be in violation of the law? And go to Azkaban until you fulfill it?”

”I’m not sure,” he replied with a careless shrug. “You vacated the country. I don’t know what the legal ramifications are. You’re the only one who left. The only one!” Anger seemed to surge up suddenly. 

“I don’t care—”

“There will be no one left, Granger,” he continued over her, his voice rising slightly. “No one. When you come back—and you will come back, you’ll have to! Your friends and family are there. Are you going to miss weddings, babies, celebrations forever because of your stubborn pride? And when you come back, there will be no one available.”

Hermione gritted her teeth. “My list of potential mates is not limited to those in England.”

Draco’s eyes widened; apparently, he hadn’t considered that she might find someone outside her native land. 

She continued before he could gather his thoughts to speak. “I refuse to allow the Ministry—or anyone—tell me whom or when to marry! When, and if, I get married, it will be to someone _I_ choose. Not from a list of pre-approved eligible bachelors.” She was angry again, though not at Draco, and she had to keep her emotions in check. She didn’t want to hurt him more than was absolutely necessary for him to really _hear_ her so that he could go home and move forward with his life. 

Draco was quiet for a few minutes. Hermione had time to be distracted by a family of four purchasing some fresh flowers from the market down the street. Finally, he sighed heavily, squared his shoulders and looked her in the eye. “Then choose me.”

Hermione’s heart caught in her throat. He really did seem to want to marry her. Just for an instant, the smallest portion of a breath, she hesitated. Her mind started to walk the path of what he was asking, but then she closed her eyes, shaking her head to physically force the images away. 

“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “So, so sorry, Draco, but I absolutely cannot even consider it. Let me sign something so that you aren’t held to this match. I’ll write the Ministry, I’ll do whatever I have to do to—”

Draco shook his head, his entire posture reflecting his hurt. He pulled away from her in every sense of the word, and she actually felt the loss, even though they were sitting across a café table from each other. He casually retrieved a few euros from his pocket and set them on the table. “I’m sure it’s enough for yours as well, I don’t care to count or wait for change.” He stood. “Thank you for your time.”

With a brief, impersonal nod, he walked away and out of sight. Out of her life.

Hermione realized her hands were shaking when she reached for her teacup. She tried to lift it but decided she wouldn’t risk breaking it. It was all she could do not to look after him, but on the very off chance he was watching her, she couldn’t. 

It took her about half an hour to feel calm enough to leave. While she waited, she allowed herself to think about what might have been. Before the rumors of the Law had started, she’d found herself attracted to Draco. She’d hoped he would ask her out and had done her best to encourage him. But he hadn’t, and then the Law was talked about openly. At that point, Hermione stopped hoping Draco would ask her out because she’d have said no. She’d have said no to anyone who’d asked, but she’d hoped to remain friends with Draco. She’d also known before too much time had passed that she wouldn’t be sticking around if the Law were passed. Besides, she’d never dared imagine that he’d want to date her—much less marry her—enough to put in a request for her in the match process. 

Now, though, it seemed that he had felt… something between them, enough to convince him that, of all the witches in England, she was his preference. She couldn’t allow herself to think that he really was in love with her. She wasn’t ready to face that reality, and the accompanying knowledge that she’d quite possibly broken his heart.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I was blown away by the response to the first chapter. Truly, thank you to everyone who dropped me a note. I’d forgotten how much fun it is to write and then hear what people think. And I love to respond to questions and further get into discussions, so please feel free to do so if you want. This chapter was super fun to write. I hope you like it! MANY thanks to my beta, eilonwy! Also, I added about 400 words to this after she saw it last, so any mistakes are mine, I’m sure! 
> 
> **Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and his world belong to JKR. I’m just having fun.

**CHAPTER TWO**

Draco returned to England feeling utterly defeated. Like Napoleon invading Russia, scorched earth and all.

He spent the entire first day holed up in his room, nursing a bottle of Old Ogden’s and plotting. Plan A had crashed and burned in spectacular fashion, but he wasn’t waving the white flag yet. Oh no, not even close. He had too many forces working for him, too many cards up his sleeve. It remained to be seen whether any of them were aces.

~~*~~

**April 27**  
Draco knocked sharply on a bright blue door. After a moment, Ginny Potter opened it. She blinked, then raised an eyebrow. “That was quick.”

“Who is it, dear?” came the voice of Molly Weasley as she neared the front door.

“It’s Draco,” Ginny replied, opening the door to grant him entry. After eyeing him critically, she said, “We’ll meet in my old room. Upstairs, last door on the right. I’ll find Harry and Ron.”

Draco nodded and Ginny disappeared. Then he turned to Molly and proffered a bottle of wine. “I apologize for dropping in unannounced and uninvited.”

Molly looked surprised for a moment, then hesitantly accepted the wine. “This certainly wasn’t necessary, but thank you. Any friend of my kids is welcome.” She closed the door behind them and then pointed toward the stairs. It had been a strange half year, growing closer to Hermione’s friends. Molly had been understandably reluctant, but lately she’d shown signs of more than simply tolerating his presence. 

Draco took his leave and made his way up the twisting staircase. Magic was a mysterious natural occurrence. From the outside, the Burrow seemed to defy the laws of physics, but inside, the hallways appeared straight and most of the angles were right.

Draco found Ginny’s room and looked around. Soon Ginny joined him with Harry and Ron in tow. Ron grinned like Christmas had come early when he saw Draco. Draco set his jaw; this part wouldn’t be fun.

“Malfoy!” said Ron gleefully, looking around him as though expecting to see someone else. “Where’s Hermione?”

He gave Ron his most lethal look and said nothing.

“Oh, she didn’t come back with you?” Ron continued, feigning joyous confusion. “I’m stunned.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Ron, lay off.”

“Oh, no. I’m just getting started,” he said. “I’ve got this in writing.” Ron brandished a standard magical contract. “I was promised a full thirty minutes to torment him in the event that he didn’t return with her. It’s only been … one.”

“Yes, well, some of us want to hear about Hermione,” Ginny countered.

Ron pouted and Vanished the contract. “No fair, though. I earned those thirty minutes.”

“You can do it later,” Draco suggested. He thought Ron’s ribbing would be more tolerable in small doses. 

“Oh, all right,” said Ron happily. “I suppose it can wait.”

“How was she?” Harry asked, offering Draco a beer.

“She seemed very well,” Draco replied, accepting the drink and sitting down in an empty chair. He’d never get the image of the morning sun on her face, her shoulders, her hair, out of his memory.

“Was she happy?” Harry asked. Ginny gave his hand a squeeze.

“Yes. I think so. Bitter about everything here, but happy enough,” Draco replied. He’d spent a good fifteen minutes observing her before approaching the table. Part of him hadn’t wanted to begin because then he would get an answer and the conversation would have to end. The work he’d done to find her would come to its conclusion, for better or worse, and no matter her answer, he hadn’t a clue what he’d do upon returning to England. As he’d watched her, the serene expression on her face, he’d known in his gut what her answer would be.

Harry sighed. “I do miss her.”

“We all do,” said Ginny. 

“I don’t think I truly expected to bring her home after just one attempt,” Draco confessed. “But she didn’t even budge. Nothing I said even came close.” There had been that instant where she’d seemed conflicted, but he’d never know what she’d been conflicted _about_. “And she was quite convincing herself.”

Harry and Ginny exchanged a look.

Draco continued. “She’s not coming back. I believe that now.”

“What are you going to do?” Ginny asked gently, after he’d been quiet for a moment.

He shrugged, allowing some of the defeat he felt to show. What _could_ he do, really? The optimism he’d felt after his days of plotting at home were fading upon further reflection to Hermione’s friends. They’d told him, repeatedly and often, that he was on a fool’s errand. 

When the Law went into effect, he’d chosen Hermione immediately and been granted the match. When she left England, the move had been unprecedented. In order to discourage others from following suit, the Ministry had immediately held a trial in absentia and convicted her of sedition. She could only return if she recanted her position and married him immediately. There had been some who’d insisted upon time in Azkaban, but the majority felt her acquiescence would be enough.

If she never returned, Draco was in a difficult spot. He’d fulfilled the Law’s requirements with nothing to show for it. He truly didn’t know what his fate was. Would the Ministry release him? Did he even want that? All the matches had been made. Were there any leftovers? Would he be forced to marry someone else? The thought made him grimace. He didn’t want anyone but Hermione. He realized it was a tragic irony that he, too, wanted to marry for love, now that the possibility had been completely dashed.

“What _can_ I do?” he asked morosely.

“Are you stuck?” Harry asked. “Can you get out of the match?”

“I don’t really want to,” he admitted. “There’s... no one else I’m even remotely interested in.”

“She’s not coming back,” Ron reminded him, not unkindly.

Draco nodded. “No, I … I know that. I do. For now, I’m okay with being unable to… proceed with the Law. It’ll give me time to think.”

They were all quiet for a moment. Draco felt on the edge of something, as though wisps of thoughts he’d struggled with in the days since Lyon were coalescing in his mind. Every path he traveled in his thoughts led to one conclusion, but he had resisted thinking about it further. It seemed unrealistic and unattainable. 

“I mean, the only way she said she’d come back is if the Law is repealed,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. All three of Hermione’s very best friends got very quiet.

He raised an eyebrow, curious at their reaction. “But she tried so hard before she left to keep it from happening. What more can anyone do?”

Harry and Ron exchanged a look. 

Draco frowned, more to himself than them. What _could_ anyone do? If she couldn’t get anyone to listen, who could? A niggling thought tickled the back of his mind. Maybe it wasn’t so much about _who_ as it was _what_. What could get the Ministry to listen? He hadn’t been required to deal much with the Ministry, aside from the fact that he worked there. There was one thing he knew that always got things moving, however. His parents used their considerable assets rarely but to good effect. He’d discovered that Galleons got things done far quicker than anything else. Of course, he couldn’t just throw money at the problem. Perhaps before the Law had been passed that might have been possible, but now it would require more than money. 

Which brought his thoughts back to the unrealistic and unattainable.

Draco chuckled lightly. “I could always fight it, right?”

He hadn’t really meant to say it out loud, and he thought that by speaking the words he’d hear how ridiculous they sounded. So he hadn’t been prepared for the reaction. Had he given it a moment’s thought, he would have expected them to laugh with him and quickly dismiss the idea. Instead, the mood in the room changed instantly; they all stared at him hard. 

Then Harry slowly spoke. “You _could_ fight it.”

Draco sighed deeply. “I know. I’ve thought about it, but—” 

Ginny seemed to come alive then. “Really? You’ve thought about fighting the law?” When he nodded, she continued. “You really ought to, Draco. You’d be the best person to do it.”

“Why me?” he asked, genuinely surprised.

“Think about it.” Ginny sat up straighter. “Whom does this law truly benefit?”

Draco scowled at the question. Hermione had already made him think about the Law more than he’d been comfortable. It had been good, though; just because it had been uncomfortable didn’t change that. Her logic had been impeccable, and he’d expanded his thinking to encompass it. He couldn’t go back. She’d been absolutely right, after all. Still, it was hard, seeing something you’d been raised to believe in shattered before your eyes with aplomb. 

He could be thankful for something that hurt.

Not that he’d still held fully to his parents’ beliefs. The fact that he loved Hermione and had actively sought her out—granted, far too late—was evidence of that. It wasn’t that _she_ epitomized the proof against everything he’d been taught. That was reductionist. She was more than simply a walking, talking proof text. That may have intrigued him in school, but it hadn’t been nearly enough to draw his earnest attention. 

It hadn’t been until he’d worked closely with her that she’d shown him what was beyond the Hermione Granger everyone else saw. She was intelligent, thoughtful, meticulous, yes, yet she also had an unfettered side, a mischievous streak that was probably one of the things he liked most about her. He’d been on the verge of asking her out when talk of the Marriage Law began. From the start, she’d been extremely vocal with her opinion, and he’d lost his courage.

“Malfoy?” Ron elbowed him. “Still with us?”

He spoke automatically. “The Law… benefits all of wizardki—”

“No,” Ginny interrupted sharply. “Don’t simply repeat the bullshit propaganda, Draco. Answer the question.”

He glared at her, more because it seemed like what he should do rather than because he was upset with her. “All right, then. It benefits those who have something to lose without it.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Namely?”

“The pure-bloods,” he said reluctantly.

“The old guard,” she agreed. “Pure-bloods are the ones having the Squibs. They—”

Draco interrupted her now. “Just for the record, your family is considered pure-blood.”

Ron smacked the back of his head. “Don’t say stupid things.”

Ginny merely raised an eyebrow and continued. “All pure-bloods need to maintain magical lines, even if it means _sullying_ them every few generations.”

“You sound just like Hermione,” Draco said gruffly. 

She spoke as though he hadn’t. “But pure-bloods don’t want to sully their lines, so they use this Law to get around it because they can’t be held liable for the tainted blood. It’s like a free pass. The offspring can be considered pure by the old families, and the old prejudices can continue unfettered.”

“Did you and Hermione read the same brochure?” he asked half-heartedly. He was only arguing because he had nothing else to do. Ginny was well and thoroughly on a rant; he doubted his presence was even required at this point.

“Who gets to lead the matching process?” she asked, her tone rising. “The pure-bloods, of course. They don’t allow the less-thans to have much of a say in whom they end up with.”

“I know all of this,” said Draco defensively. “Hermione could talk of nothing else before the law was passed. I’ve heard all of her arguments dozens of times.”

“So?” Harry asked. 

“So?” He threw up his hands. “So, she was right. I know that.”

Harry nodded in satisfaction. “Right. So. Now what?”

Draco looked at each of Hermione’s best friends in turn. They were watching him intently, eager for his reply—as though they’d discussed this course of action already. “You want me to do this,” he said, realization dawning. 

“Of course we do,” Ron said.

“But we want _you_ to want to,” Harry added.

“There’s a lot to consider,” said Ginny.

Draco shook his head in amazement. “How long, exactly, have you been scheming about this?”

Ron crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “When you first mentioned wanting to find Hermione, months ago, we thought… _Hey, what if he…?_ ”

“But it had to come from you,” Ginny supplied. “We weren’t sure you’d ever get there, of course.”

“Does Hermione know about your grand idea?” he asked.

“Merlin, no,” said Harry quickly. Ron visibly shuddered. “She’d hex us for even mentioning it. After everything she did, she probably feels that it’s hopeless.”

“It’s just a few conversations we’ve had,” said Ginny. “We’ve done nothing, really; we haven’t been _scheming_.”

“Such a Slytherin thing to suggest,” Ron quipped.

“We just feel, if anyone is going to attempt this, it should be you,” Harry finished. 

“Because…?” Draco trailed off, looking to them to finish the sentence.

“You’re a pure-blood.” Ginny held up one finger. Then another. “You’re rich.”

He snorted.

“Which means you’ve got pull most people who are against the Law don’t have,” Harry said.

Ginny held up a third finger. “You’ve got friends on both sides of the issue.” Fourth finger. “You’re the last person in England they’d expect. You are in a unique position because of your social standing to actually be heard. The rich, pure-blooded men in charge of this law might just listen to you because they see you as just like them, and they cannot simply dismiss you. Like they did Hermione.”

Draco sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “To be honest, the idea has been in the back of my mind since the Law passed. I’d just hoped—foolishly—I could find Hermione and she’d come back with me.”

Ron sniggered.

“So you’ll do it?” Harry asked.

“I’m not… sure, yet.” Draco hesitated. “I’ve no idea where to begin. Would I… have your support?”

The three exchanged looks.

“Of course,” said Ginny, “but it wouldn’t be direct.”

“This has to be you,” Harry added.

“If we’re seen to be involved, it will color the whole thing,” Ron said. “We’re her best friends, of course we want her back. We’d do anything to get her back.”

“Even conspire with someone we’d previously been known to despite,” Ginny remarked. “No one knows we tolerate you now, much less like you.”

Draco felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips. He sighed. “And… because you think Hermione might question the whole thing?”

“Oh, mate,” said Ron sympathetically. “You’ve got to let her go.”

“Let her go? I’m not sure I follow,” Draco confessed with a frown.

“You’ve got to ask yourself why you’re doing this,” said Ginny seriously. She sat up straight and looked him in the eye. “I see two options before you, Draco, and you must choose only one. It cannot be both because your motives will be crucial to your success. Will you fight the law because you love her?”

“Of course,” he said without hesitation, his heart jumping at how easily he had admitted to Hermione’s friends the thing he’d been unable to say to her.

“Or will you fight it because she’s right?”

~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter and his world belong to JK Rowling. I am not writing to make money. This is all for fun. 
> 
> Beta thanks go to eilonwy! Once again, all mistakes are mine.

**CHAPTER THREE  
July 18**

On a typical Thursday three months after being found on the Saône by Draco, Hermione was at work. She’d had no trouble finding work in Lyon upon settling there. 

Lyon had been a center for resistance of the Nazi invasion of France during World War II, and the spirit of resistance, of innovation, of not settling, and of questioning the status quo, had so permeated life in wizarding Lyon that Hermione had quickly fallen in love with the city. It was absolutely beautiful, and she was enjoying getting to know the way Lyon wore summer. 

She especially enjoyed the giant ferris wheel in the Place de Bellecour, and her coworkers warned her that it would come down for winter, but would be back the following summer. 

Hermione had taken a job with the French Ministry as a liaison to all English-speaking countries except England. They’d welcomed her rebellious move to leave England and had given her leave from having to regularly deal directly with the Ministry there. If she had to liaise with her home country, she was allowed to use a fake name and change her appearance. 

It was the most fun she’d ever had at a job.

This particular Thursday was like many before it. She was at her desk at ten in the morning, signing official documents and double- and triple-checking translated paperwork. At a little after ten, a memo arrived in her inbox informing her that she had just received mail.

Curious, Hermione immediately stopped what she was doing and went to the owlery. She rarely received mail—no one but her closest friends and her parents had any occasion to write to her—and no one had ever sent mail to her work. 

The attendant in the owlery took the memo and matched it to a brown paper envelope tied with a white string. Hermione thanked him and took the thin package. Opening it, she discovered a copy of the Quibbler. Stuck to the front of the issue was a note from Luna, saying she hoped the issue found Hermione well. 

Hermione couldn’t imagine why Luna would send her an issue out of the blue. Puzzled, she removed the note and gasped at what she saw on the cover. There, in gold foil letters, was the headline for their feature article:

****

**Dynamic Duo Fighting Marriage Law**

It took every ounce of restraint she possessed not to sit down right then on the floor of the owlery and open the magazine. Instead, she forced herself to return to her office. There would be no point in trying to get any more work done until she’d read the article, so Hermione grabbed her wand and her purse and left for an early lunch.

She went to her favorite café on the Saône, the one where Draco had found her, and ordered her favorite sandwich and a cup of tea. With trembling hands, she leafed through the magazine until she found the article. 

Hermione’s eyes went wide as she read the summary. She’d picked up her sandwich to start eating, but it remained in her hand, forgotten, as she devoured the article, written by none other than Luna herself. 

///

The Marriage Law has been on the books for nearly a year. It was heralded as the single piece of legislation needed to save the future of wizarding kind in England. Many on the continent have been watching closely to see if the Law can lead to the results it promises: fewer incidence of Squib births and a resurgence in the magical population. 

The deadline for finalizing the matches granted in March of this year is fast approaching. At time of publication, only fourteen of the one hundred forty-seven matches granted have been sealed; one couple is already expecting their first child. With only three months remaining, it seems most of the couples should be focusing on their upcoming nuptials and therefore the fulfillment of the Law. 

Two men, however, have been rigorously working to reverse the Marriage Law. For the last three months, these men have spent their days, every single day possible, at the Ministry, attempting to have their case heard. To date, not a single word of their efforts has been seen in the _Daily Prophet_ nor any other news outlet. No one we polled knew of a movement against the Law. Clearly, the Ministry has quashed not only their efforts but also their voice. 

The silence stops now.

Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini may seem an unlikely pair for this undertaking. I was surprised when they approached me and asked if _The Quibbler_ would be interested in talking with them—after all, I knew nothing of what they were doing. After a brief conversation over coffee, we here on staff knew this was something we couldn’t ignore. 

Luna Lovegood: Thank you, Draco, Blaise, for beginning this important discussion, and welcome to _The Quibbler_.

Draco Malfoy: Thank you, Luna, for hearing us.

LL: So let’s start from the beginning, since this is brand new for all of our readers. Tell me what exactly you’re trying to do.

DM: Simply put, we’re trying to get the Marriage Law reversed. 

LL: Why? What’s wrong with it?

Blaise Zabini: There are many problems with it. It’s designed to help one subset of the wizarding population while paying no mind to the others. It unfairly favors the pure-blood families. It encourages and perpetuates the blood prejudices which helped lead to two wars in the last forty years. And finally, perhaps most terribly, it suggests that a governing body has the right to interfere in such personal matters as whom a witch or a wizard chooses to marry. 

DM: It does a bit more than suggest it.

BZ: It asserts, then. The Law takes away the right of the witch or wizard to choose, and that is flat-out wrong. 

LL: Let’s talk a bit about why you’re doing this. Draco, your match, famous war heroine Hermione Granger, fled the country to avoid the law. Or was it to avoid you?

DM: {chuckles} She left before the match process even began, so my pride is salvaged on that point. 

BZ: {snorts}

LL: Your case is in something of a limbo. There’s no precedent for this in all the history of the Marriage Law. 

DM: Yes, I’ve got the undesirable distinction of being jilted a year before a wedding that must still go on, bride or not.

LL: And you haven’t been in touch with her?

DM: No one knows where she went. If they do, they certainly haven’t volunteered that information to me.

LL: What did you think when you first learned she was gone?

DM: I found out a few weeks after the Law was passed in August of last year. We used to work together in the Department of Mysteries. She’d told me and everyone else for at least two motnhs that she had planned a holiday for the end of August. So I thought nothing of her leaving. When she didn’t return, I started to wonder. 

LL: How was it confirmed?

DM: After the match process was complete, and the Ministry had made multiple attempts to find her, they declared that she was in violation of the Law. They conducted a show trial and convicted her of sedition. Also, her friends told me she wasn’t coming back.

LL: How did that make you feel?

DM: It was… unpleasant. I’d grown to care for Hermione through working with her over the year or so before the Law. It’s why I’d put in for her. At the time, I could have easily seen myself falling in love with her. 

LL: Yet here you are, alone, with only three months until the deadline. What have you been doing since the Match?

DM: A lot of thinking. A lot. She talked about the Law quite a bit before the vote. Also, her friends shared some of her thoughts with me.

LL: And what did you realize in all your thinking?

DM: That the Law is absurd. 

LL: Let’s get back to that in a minute. First, Blaise, we want to hear what brought _you_ to this point.

BZ: Like Draco, I went through the Match. I put in my request, and it was also granted.

LL: You requested Anna Webber. How did you know her?

BZ: I met her at Hogwarts. She was—is—two years younger. I’d always thought she was pretty, and I enjoyed talking with her on a handful of occasions. After school, our paths crossed again while working in the Quidditch world. 

LL: You, as the owner of the Puddlemere United, and she as a Beater for the Holyhead Harpies. 

BZ: Yes. I thought she was interested, so I put in for her when the Law was passed. But apparently, that I’d done so without speaking with her first put her off completely. She won’t talk to me and has stated repeatedly that the last thing she wants is to marry me.

LL: Has she threatened to follow Hermione?

BZ: Not seriously. I think the Ministry put the fear of Merlin into anyone who’d been considering it. Which, of course, was their aim.

LL: So now you stand to be in violation of the law, come March, as well. Is that why you’re doing this? To get out of trouble?

BZ: I believe the Law is compulsory. Anna has no choice; if she doesn’t appear for the ceremony, she’ll be found guilty of treason. It’s possible that’s only a slightly worse fate than marrying me. 

LL: You would end up married, then?

BZ: Yes. 

LL: Then why fight this?

BZ: Because _I_ want out. I don’t want to marry someone who abhors the sight of me. 

LL: Draco, are you fighting to get out of your match? As I understand it, you’re unable to legally wed anyone else because you’re promised to Hermione. 

DM: I am not fighting to get out of my match. I am fighting because it is the right thing to do. No one—especially not the Ministry—has the right to dictate who marries whom. 

LL: Haven’t pure-blood parents been doing that for far longer than the Ministry? 

DM: {laughs} There have been countless arranged marriages, that’s true. But it’s simply different, in one extremely important way: both parties have a say in the matter. With this Law, that isn’t the case. The pure-blood party makes a “top three” list. Based on some arbitrary criteria, a team at the Ministry decides who goes where. 

LL: You got your first choice, correct?

DM: Some of that arbitrary criteria is money. So yes, I did.

LL: But why so vehement in this effort? Tell me how it got started.

DM: After I recruited Blaise to my cause, we went to the Ministry to request an audience with someone—the Minister, the Wizengamot, the janitor—anyone. It took two weeks to see the Minister, and he basically dismissed us. We hired a solicitor who drafted a proposal he claimed they couldn’t ignore. 

BZ: They still did.

DM: I had to physically carry the proposal into the Minister’s office—by appointment, which I had waited two weeks for—and stand there while he read the entire thing. He then sent me to the Lesser Court to make an appointment to speak to the Right Honorable Witch. That appointment took two more weeks and three reschedules before I finally saw _her_. I also had to wait while she read the entire proposal, which she hadn’t read, despite me sending it to her weeks before, as well. She reluctantly told me to make an appointment to speak to the entire Lesser Court and sent me to their secretary. 

BZ: All the while, we’re … helping things along, understand. 

LL: Please explain what you mean, Blaise.

BZ: We had to grease more than a few palms.

LL: To be clear, are you saying you had to bribe Ministry officials in order to access the system that is ostensibly free to all?

BZ: Yes. 

DM: The amounts would stagger you. No one but the most wealthy could hope to fight this. 

BZ: Tell her about your meeting with the Lesser Court.

DM: {scoffs} I waited four hours to speak to the Lesser Court secretary, and she told me it would be another three weeks before they could fit me in. All the while, I’m looking at a blank calendar as she couldn’t seem to find me a spot. 

LL: Did you finally speak with them?

DM: The day of my appointment, not one of the members of the Lesser Court turned up. 

LL: This is egregious. 

DM: {chuckles} Oh, I didn’t let it go. I demanded they see me. I called the _Prophet_. I called the wireless. I did everything I could think of to force them to listen. In the end, I had to return to the Minister and remind him that I had every right as a member of wizarding society—a member who, specifically, helps contribute in such a way as to keep the Ministry functioning, if you catch my meaning—to be heard by the Ministry and if he didn’t require the Lesser Court to hear me, I’d be knocking on his door the next morning to speak with his wife about the matter. She’s Muggle-born. He did not like my threat, but he didn’t call me on it, either. The entire Lesser Court heard me the following day.

BZ: Draco doesn’t play around. 

LL: Indeed not. Nor should you. How did that meeting go?

DM: It took the better part of an hour. By the end of it, every one of them was squirming in his or her seat, but they wouldn’t budge. They said the Law was absolutely necessary for the betterment of wizarding society and all of the tripe they used to sell the Law in the first place. 

LL: That was the week before you reached out to us, right?

BZ: Yes. The Ministry’s got a severe gag order on everything Draco and I have been doing. There’s no official record of us even being there. 

LL: What else have you been doing besides appealing to the Ministry?

BZ: While Draco was handling things from an official standpoint, I’ve been attempting to drum up support, both financially and physically, for our position. 

LL: And how has that gone?

BZ: As you’d expect. The people who don’t want the Law aren’t in a position to fight it. A few of them stand to benefit from their match and aren’t keen to make waves that might hurt them in the end. 

LL: One hundred forty-seven couples matched, only fourteen already married, leaving one hundred thirty-three. Have you spoken to all two hundred sixty-six people? 

BZ: Almost. Not Hermione, of course. And a few others haven’t wanted to talk.

LL: So what happens now? The Lesser Court rebuffed your efforts. 

DM: We keep at it. 

LL: Just like that? No hesitation?

DM: None at all. I’m more convinced now of this course than I was when we started. 

LL: What are your plans, then?

DM: The Lesser Court _will_ hear me again. 

BZ: I’m going to collect signatures of those who oppose the law and wish to see it overturned. 

LL: You’re going to need more than two hundred sixty-six signatures if you want a Ministry lift operator to listen to you, much less the Court.

BZ: We’re hoping that this interview will help us in that endeavor. We’re going to reach out to those beyond those most directly affected by the Law. 

DM: This goes beyond just a Marriage Law. It speaks to our civil liberties, and we believe others will agree with us.

BZ: My goal is to get a thousand signatures.

DM: If we can generate enough interest, the Ministry _has_ to listen. If we can generate enough buzz, people will talk. If people listen... we might just have a chance.

LL: Are you trying to have the law overturned by the marriage deadline in October?

DM: That would be ideal, but we’re aware that it might take much longer than that.

LL: What will you do, then, when the deadline passes and you remain unmarried?

DM: Blaise will marry Anna. They have no choice. As of yet, I’m under no obligation to do anything about my status. It’s really the last thing on my mind.

LL: If Hermione were to return next week, how would that change your efforts?

DM: I’d like to think she would join me in this fight. She left England to avoid the Law, after all. 

LL: Let’s revisit Hermione for a moment. You said before that you could see yourself falling for her. Did you? Ever? Fall for her?

DM: We were friends. I fancied her. 

LL: Enough to want to marry her.

DM: At the time, there was no one I would have rather entered that union with.

LL: And now?

DM: She’s gone. I may never see her again, may never even hear another word about her. I’ve had time to reconcile with this reality. 

LL: So you aren’t doing this so that she’ll come back to England?

DM: I think I know where you’re going with this, so let me save you the trouble. This work we’re doing has to be done. The Marriage Law is fundamentally flawed. When I decided to go forward with this, I relinquished in my heart any claim to her happiness—not that I ever held it. With that said, I _am_ doing this so that she can return to England because this is her home and she deserves to be here, to live, to love, and work here, in any way she sees fit. However, I’m also doing this so that Anna has those same rights. And for one of my best friends, Pansy. For Dean Thomas, one of Hermione’s former classmates. Let me be crystal clear: I am _not_ doing this in an effort to “win” Hermione’s attention, affection, or admiration. This process could take years. She could marry someone else before we win—and we _will_ win—and completely move on with her life. This really isn’t about her.

LL: You have no hopes for a happy ending for you two together?

DM: I had to check all of my hopes when I started this.

LL: Are you seeing anyone?

DM & BZ: {laughs} 

DM: Honestly, I’ve got no time for that right now. 

LL: Blaise? What about you? Any hopes of Anna returning your feelings?

BZ: None. I think there’s a greater chance of the moon being made of actual cheese. She told me she used to fancy me, but that she also thought I respected her. Making a move for her without her input convinced her I could never make her happy. Perhaps she’s right. We’ll never know.

LL: If you have to marry before the law is overturned, what would you do?

BZ: In our… demands, if you will, we’re asking for a complete annihilation of the Law. All of the marriages that result will be annulled, unless a couple specifically applies to remain married. She’ll walk away with a clear slate and, hopefully, only a little time spent unpleasantly.

LL: Why the annulments?

BZ: I want to marry for love. And I want to _stay_ married for love, through the hard and unlikeable times. Through the work. I’ve seen more marriages fail than most people read the paper. I don’t want that. This marriage isn’t one of love for most of us, pure-blood or not, rich or not. It is species propagation tied up in a neat, tidy package, nothing more. I for one want to move forward with a blank page.

LL: What can you tell me about others’ reactions? You’ve told us the Ministry has tried to dodge you at every turn. What did the Minister say? The Right Honorable Witch? What about friends and family? Do any of them stand with you?

DM: The Minister didn’t have much to say the first time I saw him. When I, um, suggested that I’d talk to his wife, he seemed to falter, though just long enough to tell me he’d make it happen and to get the hell out of his office. The Right Honorable Witch was a bit conflicted. I reminded her that her husband is a pure-blood, and as a pure-blood herself, how would she have felt if a Law demanded that they both find other partners? It’s ridiculous that I’ve had to remind these people that the freedoms they enjoyed are being taken from my generation. 

BZ: We largely have the same circle of friends. Most of them want to be supportive but ended up with mostly favorable matches. A few worried that they wouldn’t find anyone otherwise. 

DM: None of them is ready to publicly stand with us. Family pressures, especially for those whose families were involved in the war, are intense. Any hint of disagreement with something the Ministry is doing is unacceptable. 

LL: Yet here you two are, not only going up against the whole Ministry of Magic, but seeking this interview. You _want_ this published. 

DM: I’m not afraid of the Ministry. I’ve got some things going for me in this world, namely my name and all the prestige and power it wields. That I’m attempting to use it for something worth fighting for only makes me more determined.

BZ: And I’ve got nothing to lose. My mum’s in Congo; the Ministry can’t touch her or me or our money. 

LL: That money and position are even required in this venture is despicable. You should have access to the democratic process just like the people who proposed the Law in the first place. 

DM: Careful, dear. You’re getting awfully close to sharing an opinion.

LL: You’re right. Forgive me. Tell me about your families.

BZ: Like I said, my mum’s in Congo. 

LL: But if she were here, what would she say?

BZ: {chuckles} My mother is not the sort of woman who likes being told what to do. And being told who to marry? In case you’ve forgotten, she’s been married seven times before her current husband. I’m fairly certain she would side with me.

LL: How do your wishes for your future compare to what you grew up with?

BZ: I’m only interested in marrying once. That’s all I’ll say about that.

LL: All right, then. Draco? Your parents must have an opinion on what you’re doing.

DM: That’s putting it mildly. 

LL: Tell us more.

DM: {sighs} They don’t see anything wrong with the Law. They want me to fight to have Hermione forcibly brought back to England. They aren’t happy with what I’m doing. 

LL: So they don’t support you.

DM: I’ve tried using the argument on them that I used on the Right Honorable Witch, but they seemed disinterested in even thinking about it.

LL: Your manner would suggest that this upsets you.

DM: Of course it does! They’re my parents! I had hoped that they’d want to see me happy above all. They still claim they want that, but I’m not sure they can really see this issue the way I do. I only see it this way because of what happened with Hermione. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, to try and see it from her perspective. They haven’t. 

LL: We are almost out of time. Tell me what’s next?

BZ: We continue to gather support. We start by collecting signatures. We’ve prepared the requisite documents, and anyone who wishes to sign our petition can do so with a special piece of parchment that either Draco or I carry at all times. Whenever someone signs this piece, it’s recorded in the official document on file with the Ministry.

LL: For our readers, we’ve provided a blank piece of parchment at the conclusion of the article. If you sign it, your name will be added to the petition. 

BZ: Thank you, Luna.

DM: Yes, that means a lot to us.

LL: It’s nothing. Least we can do. Thank you, Draco and Blaise, for speaking with us, for reaching out to us. We here at the Quibbler wish you all the best in your endeavor with the Ministry of Magic.

DM: Thank you for granting us the interview.

_Do you agree with Draco and Blaise? If so, please sign their petition below. We’ll be checking in on them as they go through this process, and we’ve been granted exclusive access to interviews with both men. Stay tuned!_  


\\\\\

Hermione stared at the last word of the article, willing it to keep going. Of course that was silly, and after a moment, she realized she was still holding her sandwich. She quickly set it down and skimmed the article again, then again.

“Excuse me?”

Hermione looked up, startled at the interruption. She’d been so focused on the interview that she’d failed to notice the waiter approach her. “Yes?”

“Is there something not to your liking?” he asked.

“Pardon me?” she asked, confused. 

He sheepishly indicated her full plate. “You’ve not taken even a bite.”

“Oh!” Hermione felt a blush light her cheeks. “I—I got caught up in something.” She checked her watch. “And now I’m quite behind. May I have this wrapped?”

The man nodded and whisked the plate away, returning after mere moments with her sandwich wrapped in paper. 

“Thank you,” she said, genuinely flustered as she took the package. She gave an awkward wave and left the café. 

Her stomach rumbled as she hurried back to her office. She took a single bite of her sandwich and pulled out a piece of parchment to write to Luna. 

_Luna – Please send me any and all issues with anything about this case._

She received a reply from Luna later that night, when she was settled in her flat to read the article yet again.

_Hermione – Of course. I’ll send them personally, as we don’t want to add you to the official mailing list. We miss you. Draco is quite charming, and Blaise is rather the gentleman. I hope they are successful so that, among other things, you can come home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta thanks to eilonwy, as always! Again, I added some since she looked at it (300+ words!), so any mistakes are mine!

**CHAPTER FOUR  
July 22**

A few days after the Quibbler interview was published, Draco was in the dining room, eating breakfast and going over his case notes. Some day, hopefully soon, he would present again to the Lesser Court, and he needed to prepare for it. His presentation had to be much better than his first attempt, not because the information needed to change, but because there was so much more involved this time. It needed to be flawless and leave no room for argument. Once he got the signatures he needed, then at least one thousand people would be involved. He really needed to get the attention of the Court so they would allow themselves to be shaken out of their comfortable mindsets. A thousand people who agreed with him _should_ be enough to earn him a fair hearing.

He’d just taken a bite of sausage when his parents entered. He looked up in time to see Lucius unceremoniously drop a copy of the Quibbler on top of his notes.

“Good morning to you, too, Father,” Draco mumbled, moving the magazine aside.

Lucius and Narcissa sat in their usual seats, but they didn’t move to plate their food. Draco wasn’t sure what they wanted, but he wasn’t going to act first. He pretended to continue reading his notes.

“Draco.”

Lucius’ tone was the one he reserved for only the most serious conversations. Draco set down his quill and highlighter—the latter a birthday gift from Hermione the year before—and turned his full attention to the man. “Yes, Father?”

At first, Lucius looked angry, then annoyed. Finally he sighed wearily and Summoned the Quibbler. “Draco … Help me understand … _this_.” He waved the magazine dismissively in the air.

Draco frowned. “I’m not sure exactly what you mean. I’ll be happy to answer whatever questions you have.” 

“Why are you doing this?” Lucius asked.

“Did you read the article?” Draco asked impatiently. He didn’t have time to hold his father’s hand and explain everything. “It’s all quite self-explanatory.”

“We both did,” Narcissa chimed with a smile. “You came out sounding quite dashing.”

“Thanks, Mum.” Draco gave her a confused half smile before turning back to Lucius. “If you read the article, then you know why I’m doing this.”

“But why are you fighting against something our world needs?” Lucius asked. 

Draco hesitated, trying to decipher his father’s expression. He realized that Lucius was genuinely interested; he wasn’t just trying to start an argument. 

Draco set his fork down and regarded his father. “It’s exactly as I said. The wizarding world can either keep using this bandage, covering up the real problem of Squib births, or they can face the hard truths behind the need for mixing blood.” Draco wished his parents could hear him, really listen and consider what he was saying, but he didn’t hold out much hope. It had taken him being rejected flat out without a batted eye after months of intensive effort to find Hermione for him to even start hearing the words she was saying—the same words she’d been saying for months before the Law was passed. He hadn’t listened then because he hadn’t thought it would matter for him. Before Lyon, he’d literally been at his end point, the point from which his only option, however she’d responded, was to change course. He couldn’t possibly expect that his parents, with many more years of prejudice behind them, would be able to turn so quickly. 

Or at all.

Lucius didn’t like his answer. “This Law will _help_ people, Draco. It will help your friends, and it will help people who could cause problems for you in the future if you upset them.”

Draco scowled. “As absurd as it may sound, I am doing this to help everyone—all of those people who rushed to support this Law, myself included, because it is an easy fix, and those who are somewhat powerless as a result of it. Our world needs the hard route through this, especially now, with all of the tentative feelings and truces since the war ended. If we just allow this to continue, we will only hinder the progress that has been made. Like it or not, pure-blood supremacy is not the way forward. We need to work through this together, with everyone able to contribue equally. I am convinced we will come out stronger in the end.” He should write some of this down for his speech. He would probably never argue with anyone as stubborn and stuck in their ways as his parents; it would be good practice.

“Your friends,” Lucius continued sternly, “need this Law. Most of them are only children, like you, who are descended from only children. _Like you_. The more that happens, the closer we get to the point when we start seeing mostly Squibs. Your mother had three miscarriages before you and four after.” Lucius turned to his wife with the most loving expression Draco had ever seen from him. Taking her hand, Lucius gave it a gentle squeeze. “We worry about your future.”

Draco shook his head. “So the answer is to marry a witch of impure blood, regardless of my feelings on the matter? Or hers? You know, I still don’t understand how you two have been so accepting of this law. It’s just like Hermione said before, that pure-bloods are against mixing blood until Squibs start showing up, then we’re all for it. Has this happened before, Father? In the Malfoy lineage? Or yours, Mum?”

Lucius sighed heavily and then stood. “I’d like to show you something. Narcissa, please excuse us.”

Draco nodded and followed his father from the dining room. He led him through the house to the library. Lucius walked to the giant portrait of Reolus Malfoi, the first Malfoy to move to England from France. He tapped the side of the portrait, which was over ten feet tall and twelve feet wide, and to Draco’s astonishment, the image disappeared, replaced with an image of an enormous tree. 

“What is it?” he asked, frowning at the tree. 

“It’s the Malfoy family tree,” Lucius replied. He used the tip of his wand to press a knob on the frame, and an ornate, golden magnifying glass appeared on the end of Lucius’ wand. He placed the wand over the trunk and Draco saw, enlarged to the size of dinner plates, pictures of Reolus Malfoi and his wife, Genofeva. Included were their dates of birth and death. “It starts with Reolus in 1066, and each line of thread is actually a branch. This image is Charmed to adapt whenever there is a change in status for anyone in the family currently living.” Lucius swept his wand to the far left of the tree, and Draco saw his own name and likeness there, connected to his parents just below. 

Like the branches of a real tree, the family tree was laid out in no particular manner. Lines continued until they didn’t, and the tree made space where it needed to in order to accommodate changes.

Lucius pressed his wand into small notch in the frame, and the entire tree glowed gold. It was surprisingly beautiful. Although, when Draco looked closer, he saw that not every branch, every thread, was shining gold. Some of the lines were dim. 

“What’s happened with these threads?” he asked, tracing one of the dark ones.

“The gold you see indicates a pure-blooded match,” Lucius explained. He then tapped yet another notch and the bright gold glow was replaced by a few glowing strands of red. “Muggleborn matches.” Lucius tapped again. “The green are half-blood.” He tapped a final time and a handful of blue lines began to glow. “The blue are—”

“Muggles?” Draco finished, astounded. “In the Malfoy family tree?”

Lucius shrugged. “It’s bound to happen. Think of your mother’s family. Even in a family of staunch pure-bloods, her sister married a Muggleborn, and then of course there was all that business with Sirius. Regulus, too, if rumors are to be believed. The truly astonishing fact is that there are so few in all of this history.”

Draco marveled at this new information. He’d never given much thought to his Malfoy family history beyond his grandparents, whom he knew to be ardent believers in pure-blood rights and superiority, as well as wishing all Muggles would simply walk into the ocean and stop breathing. 

“Not many of the others, relatively speaking, though there are many more Mud— _Muggleborns_ and half-bloods than Muggles.”

“I’m surprised at how indifferent you seem about non-pure marriages in your family tree,” Draco said, still examining the part of the tree nearest to his name. It would take weeks to see it all. 

“As I said,” Lucius explained, “it’s bound to happen. People fall for those they do, and sometimes they cannot be persuaded out of it. It isn’t as big a concern where there are multiple children.” He stopped and pointed to the trunk of the tree. “See how the trunk is especially bright? Here, Reolus’ oldest son was called William—a popular name after the conquest—which you can see easily beside the other four children. The bright golden thread runs all the way through the tree, unbroken all through.” Lucius traced the path through the air with his wand, going far up into the upper branches and in and out of every other branch. “You can see that it ends, temporarily, with you. This line has been maintained, through the oldest sons in every generation. William’s siblings’ threads were gold, but they are duller.”

Draco sucked in a breath, gazing at the tree with renewed appreciation. An unbroken line of pureblood marriages, maintained for a millennium. It was beyond impressive.

“The firstborn son, through love, coercion, manipulation, arrangement, or something else, continued the line,” Lucius finished.

Draco couldn’t help but feel a weight of guilt. He’d truly wanted to marry Hermione, at least when faced with the prospect of having to marry _someone_ he’d never before have considered. He’d fallen for her, yes; whether that would have naturally led to thoughts of marriage without the presence of the impending Law, he couldn’t say. Seeing this tree made him proud of his father’s family history. Draco had always been interested in keeping up the high wizarding traditions, and this was yet another he could maintain. 

“And if I marry under this law,” Draco remarked slowly, “that bright golden line would be broken.”

Now Lucius met his son’s eyes. “I’m not sure what would happen,” he admitted. “The Malfoy family has never been subject to a Marriage Law. In matters of law, any child sired by you as a result of the Marriage Law would be considered pure, even with a Muggleborn or half-blood mother.”

Annoyance flared in Draco. “Because the law is considered a necessity.”

Lucius nodded. “Since we’ve never needed the Law, there’s no precedent for it on the tree.”

Draco frowned. “How is it that our line has never needed a Marriage Law? I thought it was unfortunately common for the purest bloodlines.”

At that, Lucius smirked. “Our family has never been in a position to require it. In prior years, whenever there was rumor of a Marriage Law, all effort was made to secure a match for the eldest son long before the Law went into effect. There haven’t been too many, and it’s always worked out.”

“May I?” Draco held out his hand for his father’s wand. “I’d like to look more closely.” When Lucius handed it to him, Draco followed the bright golden line to see all of his ancestors. In 1487, he came upon a picture of a witch, married to an ancient relative, with a shining silver crown on her head. “Who is that?”

Lucius looked at who Draco pointed to. “Ah. That would be Charlotte de Hauteterre. She was part of the newly established French nobility, a cousin of the daughter of the Noble in Chartres. Whenever it seemed the Malfoy line was in danger—generally taken to be two successive generations where only one child was born despite all efforts to the contrary—our fathers would reach out to pure-bloods around the world. France, Switzerland, Bavaria, even America.”

“Just to keep the line pure?” Draco asked, even though he probably knew the answer. “Why didn’t other pure-blood families simply do the same?”

“They couldn’t afford it,” Lucius replied. “Some did, here and there, but only our family was able to do it consistently. Reolus fought beside William the Conquerer; as you know, there was no statute of secrecy then. He was rewarded heavily with this estate, and it has remained in our family ever since. Nearly a thousand years. Anyway. Charlotte married William Malfoy. His parents paid handsomely to bring her over, putting the family in a rough spot. William’s parents discovered a way to regain some of their prestige and notoriety when it came time for William and Charlotte’s children, specifically their sons, to marry. They exacted larger-than-usual dowries from the brides-to-be to make up for the … expenses Charlotte incurred. They were able to do this because the Malfoy name and lineage was unparalleled.”

Draco frowned. “That all sounds very… mercenary.”

Lucius shrugged. “Needs must, I suppose.”

“So whenever it looked as though there might be trouble down the line conceiving a magical child, the Malfoys simply imported a pureblood witch,” Draco said in summary. 

“That’s it, essentially.” 

Draco looked again at the tree and the obvious lack of branches over the last few generations. He was an only child, as was Lucius. Abraxas and his father and grandfather before had also been only children. Five successive generations of only children, and as he’d found out earlier, his own mother had experienced seven failed pregnancies. That number was staggering; he was amazed to even be alive.

“What about me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Lucius sighed heavily. “You can see why we were so in favor of this law. We are past the point of concern, Draco. It’s possible that, if you married a pureblood witch in England, you’d have no children at all. This” – he made a sweeping gesture toward the family tree – “would come to an end.”

“What about… importing a witch? Why didn’t that ever come up in conversation? Why didn’t your father do it for you, or your father’s father?” It seemed to Draco that Abraxas should have married a foreign witch, in keeping with family tradition. 

“My father … married my mother because her dowry greatly increased the Malfoy holdings; at the time, that was seen as more pressing. Theirs was an arranged marriage. My grandparents risked everything when they didn’t follow tradition. It was taken as fact that I would be the one for whom a wife was found abroad.” He smiled warmly. “But I fell for your mother and nothing could dissuade me.” Then a flash of pain flared in his eyes. “I knew all of the risks. _We_ knew them. We thought it wouldn’t happen to us, as young people always do. It nearly did... your precious mother went through so much.” Lucius paused, and Draco was astonished to see a depth of pain he’d never imagined possible in his father’s expression. It passed quickly, and then he spoke again. “Then you were born, and we breathed easily for the first time since we’d decided to marry. We’d thought, since your mother had two sisters and her father had two siblings, that we’d be safe. I think the Malfoy line was simply too fragile.”

Draco’s head was spinning as a sobering realization struck him. “Then … _I_ was to be the one with the imported wife. But here we are, years beyond a traditional marrying age, and I’m only just now learning all of this. Why?”

“Your mother… has always wanted your happiness first. The Dark Lord’s return in your fourth year meant that our focus had to shift from thinking about your future wife to trying to keep you alive and out of harm’s way.” Lucius shook his head. “What a debacle. After it ended, we could think only of how grateful we were to still have each other. Then there was getting through all of the trials and the post-war rebuilding. We’d hoped to send you to Spain to further your education, but you insisted on staying here and working for the Ministry. In the end, Narcissa didn’t think it would hurt to put off sending you away for a little while.” He chuckled wryly. “It appears that, whatever the legal status of your children, Malfoy blood will be diluted.”

Draco wasn’t sure what to think. He stared at his name on the tree, imagining in his head a red line connecting to Hermione’s name. He glanced at the trunk, the bright, glowing gold beginning of his family, then back to his name. 

“And now? If the law is revoked, would I be expected to go to Spain or somewhere else?” he asked. He didn’t know how he would respond, what he would do if he were told he’d be expected to continue the family tradition. His gut reaction to the idea was to push against it, to insist that he be allowed to stay in England and live his life the way he wanted. Then it hit him square in the heart that the scenario was surprisingly similar to the Marriage Law. He’d be shipped away to marry someone in order to continue the Malfoy line. He realized he might be able to understand how Hermione felt about the Marriage Law, even if only a little. That he could, if sent away, choose the woman he would marry seemed to matter very little. 

Nevertheless, the full weight of a millennium rested on his shoulders. He felt quite small when faced with all of the Malfoy history, to say nothing of the Black family. When he thought about the reason he might marry a Muggleborn, for his own personal happiness, it seemed inadequate. Was his happiness more important than the traditions of generations upon generations? 

A small voice inside him insisted that it was.

“On this point, you might fare better speaking with your mother.” Lucius stepped back from the tree and regarded Draco thoughtfully. “She’s always been a bit more open-minded than I have. What happens if you marry someone other than a pure-blood?” He shrugged. “Yes, the vaunted Malfoy line darkens a bit, but it’s hardly the end of the line.”

“I would be responsible for ending the pureblood line, all because of how I _feel_.” Draco crossed his arms and frowned at his name. He did like the way Hermione’s name looked beside his in his imagination of the tree. It was a shame that, technically, the line would dim; in his mind, adding her name should increase the brightness tenfold. 

Lucius put a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Son, I… I’m not sure what to say. I suspect your mother’s rubbed off on me a bit these last few years. But the thought of that happening doesn’t frighten me as it once did.”

Draco glanced at his father, but Lucius was busy studying the tree. He didn’t think his father would ever encourage him to marry someone who wasn’t pure-blooded, but maybe he’d at least be somewhat open to the idea. Maybe all he could hope for was resignation, but if Lucius didn’t put up a tremendous fuss, it would be huge for Draco. 

He stepped back from the tree, his eyes roving over the golden glow. “Father? Is there a way to make all of the threads light at once?”

Lucius nodded and found the correct notch. Soon every strand was lit. Draco took another step back in order to take in the full family tree. 

He couldn’t help but think that it looked best with all of the colors lit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sigh. I forgot to mention that the last chapter put us at the halfway point in this story. Time is flying! Beta thanks, as always, go to eilonwy. However, I added over 600 words since she saw it, so mistakes belong to me. I've never done that, added so much after I thought a story was "finished," but I find when I reread in order to prepare to post, new things keep wanting to be said. So there's nothing for it!

**CHAPTER FIVE  
September 23**

Two months later, over a full year since the Marriage Law was passed and five months since Draco had tracked her down, Hermione had received a total of five issues of the Quibbler from Luna. None of the latest four had anything nearly as extensive as the initial interview, but they contained little pieces of the progress Draco and Blaise were making.

It wasn’t much, but it was steady. She and Luna had communicated a little, mainly with respect to the information published. Though there had been the one time she’d asked Luna if Draco were really sincere, which Luna had eagerly affirmed. Then Hermione had wanted more information on one of the updates, and Luna had provided more than she’d asked for. 

Luna’s last note, sent with the fifth issue, had unsettled Hermione, however. 

_Hermione – Here’s the latest on their efforts. I think it’s coming along nicely. We’ll be publishing a new interview in our next issue, so that will be headed your way soon. We get at least ten inquiries a day at our office from witches around the world wanting to know more about our hoping-to-soon-be unattached bachelors. I suspect they won’t be single long, if these witches are successful._

Why she had mentioned anything about witches being interested in Draco—and Blaise—Hermione couldn’t imagine. Had there been something unintentionally obvious in Hermione’s notes to Luna? She didn’t think so, but Luna had a way about her, an insight that constantly caught people off guard, even those who had known her a long time. And so, she remained unsettled.

Not to mention that she hadn’t anticipated the interruption to her thought life the original article would produce. Simply put, Hermione couldn’t stop thinking about Draco. She had been attracted to him before the Law, had hoped for more than friendship, but she’d done her best to shut that down once the Law was passed. She’d put space between them in her daily life and in her mind, and when she left England, she’d been confident that she’d managed to put him behind her. 

She’d only thought of him once or twice in the seven and a half months between when she’d left and when he’d found her. Those instances were completely benign in nature. 

But then, he’d found her. He’d bloody found her. He’d gone to her friends, to her _parents_ , and who knows what other lengths, to find her. Only her parents had known her location, and they only knew the city, one of almost two million people. Draco had managed to find her at her favorite café. He’d just slid into the seat across from her as though they’d planned to meet, right then, right there. It was truly a romantic gesture, one that never ceased to send her nerves into flutters whenever she thought about it. 

It hadn’t been nearly enough to make her consider returning, of course. No, it was just enough to distract her and complicate things with Luc, her very casual boyfriend of three months whom she’d met many years previous at Hogwarts during the Triwizard Tournament. They’d become reacquainted through their work at the French Ministry.

After seeing Draco at the café that day, Hermione had allowed herself a moment to mourn what might have been, the relationship she’d unknowingly turned her back on when she’d left England. She’d thought that brief indulgence would be the end of it, but days later, she’d found herself thinking about him. Specifically, her mind wandered to his hands. She remembered the way they’d held his teacup. 

Granted, Hermione might have inquired after Draco’s health in her brief correspondence with Luna over the previous two months, but surely that wouldn’t be enough to encourage Luna to write what she’d written. Why Luna thought Hermione should be aware that witches were submitting inquiries about Draco and Blaise, she couldn’t fathom.

Hermione was home alone on a Friday night. She just hadn’t felt up to going out with her coworkers, and Luc had planned a night with his friends. It was all well and good, as Hermione had wanted to try and process how she was feeling. She gathered all of the Quibbler issues she’d been sent, made herself a cup of tea, and settled on her sofa to read and think. 

Just as she opened the well-worn initial interview for the hundredth time at least, there was a tapping at her window. Hermione instantly recognized Luna’s owl and hurried to admit the bird and retrieve the newest issue. 

_Hermione – it looks like they are close. The atmosphere here is really changing; it’s quite charged, with strong opinions on all sides. I admire Blaise and Draco more than I can say. Wish you were here. You’d be smitten._

As always, Luna’s choice of words made Hermione question the other witch’s perception. How was she able to read between the lines of Hermione’s brief notes? There was barely even anything there, mainly rampant curiosity and the (she thought) well-hidden desire for some tidbit of information, anything, about Draco.

The sixth issue of the Quibbler contained another interview with Draco and Blaise. It wasn’t as long as the first, but again, Luna was the one who conducted it.

\\\\\  
LL: Welcome back, Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini.

DM: Good to be back, Luna.

LL: The deadline for marrying is just over two weeks away. It’s been two months since we last sat down with you. What’s been happening since then? I know we’ve printed a few updates, but I want to hear it straight from you.

BZ: {Heavy sigh} To be honest, we’re still working on those signatures. 

LL: The one thousand signatures you want to gather before you go back to the Ministry.

BZ: Yes, indeed. All one thousand of them. Draco was able to secure a promise from the Minister that, if we achieved our aim, the Lesser Court would see us.

LL: You seem.... I won’t say defeated, but—

DM: Let’s just say we’ve hit a rough patch.

LL: Can you elaborate?

DM: Sure. One thousand is a very intangible kind of number. It’s so vague and round that it almost doesn’t feel real. However, we quickly learned that it represents one thousand people. One _thousand_ people! People with whom we have to initiate the conversation. Many people had either never thought about it or are strongly in favor of the Law. It requires a lot of time from us.

BZ: It comes in waves. After the first article, we had maybe, what, two hundred? Yeah, so that was very exciting. Then the signatures trickled in, then seemed to stop at about three hundred. After each update your magazine publishes, we’ll get another fifty to seventy-five. 

LL: Tell me how many you have now. 

BZ: We’re at about eight hundred or so. 

DM: Eight hundred twenty-four, I think.

LL: Are you trying to get all the signatures before the October eleventh deadline?

BZ: The sooner we get the signatures, the sooner we get to go before the Ministry, so there’s that.

DM: We simply want to have the goal met, so that we can hopefully further this project and see an end to the Law. 

LL: Are you alone in this effort still? I’m also anxious to hear how your family in particular, Draco, has responded.

BZ: {chuckles} You can take this one, mate.

DM: I’ve been... surprised by their response. It hasn’t been one of acceptance, exactly, but... I’ll just say... Yeah. They haven’t disowned me yet, or tried to get me to stop. That’s something. I don’t expect anything from them, but at the same time, they’ve left me alone.

BZ: {more chuckles} To your other question, Luna, there’s... one other person who has been working with us. Anna, my, er, reluctant _intended_ —for lack of a better word—is actually quite important to our work. She is very good at starting the conversation with people who are initially resistant. She brings her story—our story—into everything she does, and she’s passionate about getting out of our match.

DM: Talk about an understatement.

BZ: Anna brings a different dimension to our work that two blokes couldn’t achieve. 

DM: She’s been really great.

LL: Has there been any sort of reconciliation between you and her, Blaise?

BZ: Oh, absolutely not. She has toned down her abject hatred of me enough that we can work together.

LL: Last we spoke, she wanted nothing to do with you. How did she come to work with you?

BZ: Draco convinced her it would bolster our cause, giving more weight to what we’re doing. That we’re working together, despite our history, despite the animosity, shows just how serious we are. How important this is. People respond to that.

LL: So what comes next? There are those remaining signatures....

BZ: {groans} Trust me, we know. 

DM: I dream in signatures. They’re the first thing I think about when I wake up, and the last thing on my mind when I go to sleep. This work is...

BZ: All-consuming. 

DM: But in a good way. I don’t mean to sound like I’m complaining. There’s nothing I’d rather be doing.

BZ: So that’s what we’ll be doing. We naturally hope for another jump in the numbers after this is published, but if the trends hold, it won’t be the giant spike we saw the first time. However, we’ve got some leads we’re pursuing. 

LL: Good luck with all of that. Draco, as I mentioned, the deadline is rapidly approaching. Has anything been decided about your fate? 

DM: I haven’t heard anything, though I think it’s too much to hope that they’ve, er, forgotten my situation.

BZ: {laughs} You mean because we’re constantly bringing it up?

DM: Could be. 

LL: And Blaise, you’re still set to marry Anna, is that correct?

BZ: Yes, we’ve got a court-mandated appointment with a judge. You’d be surprised how many grudging couples there are, actually. Apparently, they had to bring in an extra judge for the day to handle all the nuptials. 

LL: That sounds promising.

DM: It is. I believe our efforts have emboldened quite a few couples. 

BZ: Not that anyone at the Ministry acknowledges us or what’s going on. 

LL: That would mean they’d have to say why you’re fighting the Law, which would only give more attention to your efforts. It’s just so absurdly ridiculous. I—I think we should end here. Thank you for stopping in today to give us a quick update. I don’t want to keep you, as I know you’ve got a lot of work ahead of you. Before I close, I have to ask you, Draco. Have you heard from Miss Granger?

DM: Nothing has changed since we last spoke. She’s made no effort to contact me or Blaise. 

LL: So you don’t even know if she knows what you’re doing.

DM: No. How would I?

LL: Fair question. We’ll end here, I don’t want to take up too much of your time. Thank you again, Blaise and Draco, for talking with me. I wish you all the best in your endeavors.  
\\\\\

There was another note admonishing readers to sign the petition, along with the blank page for magically recording the signature. Hermione strongly considered signing, but decided against it. She had to laugh a bit at Luna asking Draco if he’d heard from her. Luna’s last statement was particularly amusing, since she, herself, had made sure Hermione knew what was going on.

She reread the new interview, then went through everything she’d received from Luna, starting at the beginning. The amount of work Draco detailed in that first interview was astonishing. Every time she reread it, Hermione’s admiration for him grew. She wished desperately that she could tell him, let him know, somehow, that she did know what he was doing, that she appreciated it, that she hoped beyond hope that he was successful so she could come home, that he might still harbor some tiny sliver of hope—

But he’d abandoned hope. He’d said so from the very beginning. His tone in the articles suggested that he meant every word he said when he indicated that he wasn’t hoping for anything between them in the future. 

A knock on the door startled Hermione. For a wild, fleeting instant, she hoped it was Draco. Her heart thundered in her chest, then settled into a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach at the realization of who she wished was on the other side of the door. She needed to end things with Luc; it wasn’t fair to him anymore. 

Hermione padded to the door and looked through the peephole. She swallowed hard, closing her eyes in resignation. _Speak of the devil_.

**& &&**

**October 11**

Draco stood with his hands clasped behind his back. He stared straight ahead while the Judge went through the marriage script for Blaise and Anna. He’d agreed to be one of their witnesses; Luna was the other. It was a strange occasion, since no one wanted to be there. Blaise had worn a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, Anna her pajamas. Luna smiled serenely through the whole thing, but Draco knew her well enough to know that her mind was a million miles away.

After the vows were exchanged, the Judge suggested they kiss. Anna looked as though she’d rather drink poison. Blaise just sighed and kissed her hand, though he had to physically hold her to keep her from backing away. Draco was usually quite amused by the girl’s repulsion, but today he only wanted it all to be over. 

The Ministry had given him an extension on the requirement to marry. On January first, he was scheduled to appear before a Judge with a witch—where he might find one, no one could say—to be legally wed. When he’d received the letter, Draco immediately sympathized with Anna’s plight. He couldn’t imagine having to marry someone he didn’t love, much less someone he didn’t even know. 

When the Judge pronounced the ceremony complete, Draco gave Blaise a brief nod and hurried away without a word. As the only single wizard in all the English Isle, he desired nothing more than to wallow at home with a deep, strong bottle.

**& &&**

**October 12**

Hermione had marked the date of the Marriage Law, not with a glass of wine in her flat, as she’d always planned, but by taking an evening stroll through medieval Lyon. It was always lively, but at night, in the cool, crips Autumn air, with lights strung from building to building, musicians sprinkled along the main thoroughfare, it was enchanting. And Hermione had needed to feel enchanted. 

The next morning, she bought a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ at work and wasn’t surprised to see that articles about the Law were plastered all over the front page and continued throughout the paper. Hermione hadn’t kept track of what was said about the Law; she rarely purchased the _Prophet_. Today, however, she hoped to read something about Draco, his work to fight the Law, anything that might fill the strange emptiness inside her.

Everyone in England affected by the Law was now married. Draco had been right, she’d be the only one left. It wasn’t that she was sad that she wasn’t marrying Draco, but she did feel something. She wondered what he was doing. Had he been forced to find someone? There was always the possibility that the Ministry had made a decision since the last _Quibbler_ interview, and he was now locked into the Law. The idea that he could be married to someone else— _that_ made her sad. And very, very confused.

Buried deep inside the newspaper was a list of the couples who’d been married the day before. Hermione carefully scanned it, looking for Draco’s name. She found Blaise’s name, beside Anna Webber. After going over the list three times, Hermione felt confident that Draco’s name was not there. 

In fact, his name wasn’t anywhere in the entire issue. It infuriated her that in all of the coverage about the Law, the _Prophet_ hadn’t written a single word about the fight against the Law. There wasn’t a hint of dissent anywhere, only glowing reviews—though Hermione noticed those reviews didn’t come from any of the newly wedded couples. Disgusted, she tossed the paper into a bin.

**& &&**

**November 1**

Draco was in a terrible mood. It was a brand new month, and despite the fact that he and Blaise had collected nine hundred seventy-nine signatures, they were at a total loss for where to go next. They’d spent days brainstorming, but it would appear they’d reached the end of their contact lists, their friends’ contact lists, their acquaintances, their distant relations, and any hope for personally getting a signature. They would simply have to wait, either for some stroke of inspiration leading to an untapped resource, or until they could convince someone they’d already approached. Unexpected signatures had dried up long ago.

Whoever signed had to be a resident of England. One noticeably absent signature was Hermione’s, but then again, there was no reason to think she knew anything about what he and Blaise were doing. It was unlikely that a wizarding publication in Lyon would have much to say on the matter. Besides, she was wanted by the Ministry; he doubted they would accept her signature as legitimate. And it was only one. They needed twenty-one. Nevertheless, he wished to see her name. 

As he’d done every night that week, Draco was in his favorite sitting room, going over notes and charts and tables to see if he had missed something or someone he could approach the following day. The reality was, those who were going to sign had done so long ago. Anyone who hadn’t signed at this point would require a whole lot of work to convince. 

Draco was tired. He’d been fighting this fight for months now, saying the same thing over and over, to anyone who would listen. Three and a half months wasn’t terribly long, but in some ways it felt as if he’d been trying to gather signatures for years. He could barely remember what his life had been like before his every waking thought was focused on where to get the next signature. 

He was pacing before the fire, wracking his brain yet again and coming up empty. Of course he was; there was simply no one left he could personally approach. But it wouldn’t stop him from trying—it couldn’t. If only—

A knock on the door interrupted his frantic thoughts. “Come in,” he said, distractedly.

“So you are in here,” said Narcissa as she opened the door. She smiled serenely at him. “I’d already knocked once.”

Draco stopped pacing. “Mum! I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.” 

“It’s no matter,” she said, entering the room. Her smile gave way to a look of concern. “What’s got you so upset?”

He sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. “I’m not _upset_ , exactly, just extremely frustrated. We’ve got nine hundred seventy-nine signatures, and we’ve had that many for about a week. Blaise and I have no leads, no ideas for how to get any more.”

“How recently have you checked your numbers?” she asked nonchalantly. 

The question, however, gave him pause. “It’s been a few hours, I think.”

“I see.” She paced his room as though she’d never been inside before, slowly examining everything on the walls. There were pictures of him and friends, old Quidditch trophies, academic medals, and artwork he’d collected over his short adult life. She stopped to wipe a finger across the top of a frame. “Perhaps you should look again.”

Draco’s mind registered that the entire conversation was bizarre in the extreme, but he went to his logbook, which updated whenever their petition received a new signature. The total now stood at nine hundred ninety-nine. They’d received twenty in the last two hours. He didn’t even try to hide his surprise when he looked up at his mother. “How...? What...?” There were no words. “I don’t understand.”

Narcissa shrugged daintily. “I reached out to a few people whom I suspected of being holdouts on your list. We had some hard conversations, but, eventually, I was able to sway them. Not all of them, mind you, but most.” 

She said it so lightly, as though her efforts hadn’t been the equivalent of turning lead to gold. 

Draco had to sit down. “Mother, I... I don’t know what to think, or to say—”

“It simply turned out that you were right, Darling,” she interrupted dismissively. “After you received that notice from the Ministry about your... extension... and the requirement to produce a witch to marry, I understood. The thought of a stranger in this house, in our lives, in your bed...” She shivered, a disgusted expression on her face. “I’ll never again let it be said of me that I stayed silent when taking action was the right thing to do.”

He shook his head, trying to wrap his mind around what she’d done. It wasn’t even so much that she’d spoken to—and persuaded—likely the staunchest supporters of pure-blood ideals, but that she’d listened to him, considered his arguments, and opened her mind enough for it to change. He was speechless.

“We love you, you know,” Narcissa said, her voice a touch above a whisper. “Your father and I both.”

Draco forced his gaze to meet his mother’s, despite the inconvenient burning sensation in his eyes and the giant lump in his throat. 

She smiled warmly. “We have great faith in you, Son. We may not have always shown it, but we desperately want to be sure you know it now and always.”

Despite the swirl of confusion and elation, there was one thing that stood out very clearly in Draco’s mind. He distinctly remembered seeing that they were still one short. One was worlds different than twenty-one. Surely he could find one person to sign. Wait until he told Blaise, between the two of them, with Anna’s help—

Another knock sounded on Draco’s door. 

“Come in, dear,” said Narcissa, not giving Draco time to respond. “Good, you’re just in time, Lucius.”

“In time for what?” Draco asked warily, his gaze now darting between his parents. 

“I heard you needed just one more signature,” said Lucius. 

Draco nodded skeptically, not at all recovered from the force of what his mother had done for him. 

Lucius sat comfortably on the corner of Draco’s bed. “Do you have any idea whom you might ask?” he asked conversationally. 

Draco shook his head sharply in an attempt to clear the sludge in his head a bit. He shoved everything else away and forced his mind to focus on the bizarre question asked by his father. “I don’t, but I’ll talk to Blaise and—”

“Don’t you?” Narcissa interrupted, an eyebrow raised. 

He frowned and automatically started going over the lists in his mind. Had he missed something so obvious that his mother knew about it? 

Then Narcissa did something Draco had only seen her do in a handful of occasions. 

She smirked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU for reading! And I so appreciate the comments about this story. I was super nervous, posting again after so many years away, but it almost feels like I never left.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Note:** I’m sorry this chapter took so long to post! I’d hoped to post it last Friday, but RL required me, and so I wasn’t able to. I also reread it and knew I wanted to change some things, so that took some time. Beta thanks to eilonwy, and again, I added about 500 words that she never saw, so any mistakes are mine. Hope you enjoy!

**Chapter Six**

**November 4**

It had been a slow five weeks since the second interview in the _Quibbler_ , and this particular week was especially trying. It wasn’t just that things at work had been a bit tense since her break-up with Luc. They weren’t in the same department, but they shared a floor and bumped into each other at least once a day. He was more upset about it than she’d anticipated; apparently he had been more invested than she’d been. She felt a little badly, but couldn’t force herself to care. 

She felt constantly on edge. Luna had sent three more updates since the interview, each one giving little more than an estimate of how many signatures Draco and Blaise had collected. But she hadn’t heard from Luna in over two weeks, and Hermione knew they’d been close then. 

So it was with some consternation that she prepared to face another weekend in the dark about what was going on at home. She’d taken to buying the _Prophet_ every day, scouring each page for anything she could learn, but they had yet to print a single word. Still! After all the months of Draco’s efforts, it was outrageous. 

The lack of news had her feeling quite unsettled, and so she’d decided to get out of Lyon for the weekend. She’d planned a visit to Switzerland and was giddy at the thought of no demands on her time and a chance to get our of her head and stop thinking about the Law and home and Draco—hopefully. She just had to get through the day. 

At lunchtime, Hermione went out with some co-workers to celebrate a birthday. They were gone for over two hours, and when Hermione returned, she discovered three memos informing her that she had mail. She rushed to the Owlery, a sense of foreboding washing over her. The only mail she ever got at work was from Luna, and given the amount of time since her last message, Hermione just knew this one would be important. 

When she saw Luna’s hasty printing on the envelope, Hermione’s heart began to race and she tore into the letter. 

_It’s happening tonight. Half-past six. The Ministry isn’t announcing anything, but we’ve published a notice and bought airtime to tell people. It’s obvious they don’t want anyone to know about it. But I thought you should._

Hermione looked at her watch; it read quarter after two. She had just enough time to make it, if she hurried, provided traffic wasn’t too bad.

**ooo**

Hermione slipped unnoticed into a seat near the back of the auditorium. She’d been a few minutes late, thanks to an accident on the M20, but the Right Honorable Witch was still speaking, welcoming everyone and thanking them for their attendance, despite the late notice. Hermione thought she seemed rather like she didn’t mean a word she said. The room was packed; it looked like Luna’s efforts to alert people to the meeting had been successful.

The Lesser Court had prepared a defense. They presented their argument, everything that had always been said about the Law and its necessity, first. It was long and droll and Hermione thought she’d come out of her seat, she was so angry. They even presented witnesses, two couples who’d married quickly after being matched. One was already expecting a child. Both couples seemed very happy. However, it was obvious that they’d wanted to be together before the Law, and that blood status had kept them apart.

After the defense was presented, the Right Honorable Witch, with very little introduction, presented Draco.

Hermione’s heart started pounding as she watched him stand and walk to the podium. No one made a sound. After a moment, Hermione realized she was holding her breath. He was too far away for her to really see his face, but everything about him was the same. The shock of his hair, the hard lines of his face, the way he stood—they were so familiar, and had become quite dear. 

He took a breath, then looked around the room. She felt so conspicuous that she was sure he would see her, as though there were no one else there with them—despite being surrounded by what had to be two hundred people. But he didn’t; his eyes swept past her, unseeing. Then he began.

“Three nights ago, I needed... well, more signatures. Twenty-one, to be exact. I couldn’t think of anyone else to approach. Blaise and I, we’ve been at this for a long while, and I literally couldn’t think of a name I hadn’t thought of before. I couldn’t think of where to look for new names, who to ask for new names. Nothing. Even in my dreams—or perhaps they were nightmares—I couldn’t conjure a new name. I knew Blaise had struck out as well. We were completely blank, at a loss for where to turn next.”

He paused, unwilling to fight the slight smile that appeared. “My mother came into the sitting room where I was pacing, wracking my brain. She encouraged me to check the numbers again, and when I did, I saw that somehow, in the previous few hours, we had gathered twenty signatures! We only needed one more. One. She then proceeded to tell me she had decided that I was right to be doing what I’m doing. More important to me, more relevant to my story, she said she didn’t want to remain quiet when there was something she could do—something _right_.”

Draco looked down at his notes. “Then my father came in, and he very casually mentioned that I had never asked either of them to sign the petition.” He shook his head. “I was still processing his words, too stunned to think, when my mother pulled out the parchment from the _Quibbler_ and signed it. She was the one thousandth signature. Then my father signed it as well, just to show that he supported me, even though I didn’t need one thousand and one. I’d never asked them. It had never occurred to me. I … I was part of the problem, you see. I had assumed that they couldn’t change their minds. They’d been entrenched in blood supremacy dogma since they were born, so how could they possibly see things differently?”

He chuckled wryly. “My attitude and those like it perpetuate the prejudices of the pure-blood class, of which my family are stalwart members. But I’d neglected to consider one very important detail: my parents love me. They want good things for me. And so, over these months, as I worked to gain support for our petition, as they questioned me and I responded—albeit defensively at best, antagonistically more often—something in them began to soften.

“You all know my history. My parents’ history. You know that my father was a Death Eater, that I—” His voice hitched just a tiny bit. “That I have been forgiven for so much. We fought in a war on the wrong side because we thought blood was so important. Yet that night, three nights ago, my father told me he wouldn’t interfere if I wanted to marry a Muggle-born, as long as I was happy. Just imagine—a Muggle-born with the Malfoy name. Centuries of beliefs, one of the oldest, purest lines in England, and they’d welcome a Muggle-born, so long as I loved her.”

Draco again scanned the room. “I’ll be honest. I wasn’t convinced this would work. All the way up to nine hundred seventy-nine signatures, and still I had doubts that anything we did could begin to make the kind of change that is necessary, to change the very fabric of our society. But then my mother worked to get twenty signatures, and _my parents_ signed the petition. And now, I am absolutely convinced that it’s possible. I’ve seen it. They love me. And I know every one of you here loves someone who is affected by this law.

“I’m asking that you act on that love, not just to overturn this awful law, but to begin to change your own hearts and get rid of this idiotic class system based arbitrarily on something no one has any control over: where and to whom they’re born.

“You heard today from two couples who were called by our opponents, two couples being touted as Marriage Law success stories. I want to suggest to you that they say more for our argument than theirs. Two couples who, when unburdened of the restraints foisted on them by their parents and high, pure-blood society, were able to pursue someone previously considered ‘unworthy.’ They are the happiest among us today, not because they got lucky with their matches, but because they were freed to follow their hearts. We don’t need a Marriage Law to do that for us. We need the courage to walk across the divide, to realize that the old traditions are just that. Traditions. We’d be a better people, a stronger people, for it. Thank you.”

A gasp escaped Hermione’s lips, but she wasn’t the only one. Cheers sounded in clusters throughout the room, and talking started at once.

The Right Honorable Witch banged her gavel until the room went quiet. “Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. The court will now adjourn to deliberate. A chime will sound throughout the building when we’ve reached a decision.”

“Madam?” Draco had returned to his seat but had remained standing. 

“Yes?” She gave him a severe look.

“There is also the matter of the conviction of sedition against Miss Granger that we are petitioning to be overturned.”

“Yes. We’re aware.” She banged the gavel once more and then all the members of the Lesser Court rose and filed from the room.

Conversations once again broke out around her, but Hermione couldn’t take her eyes off Draco. She wished she could go to him, but she was still considered a fugitive. And besides, what could she possibly say? ‘Thank you’ fell woefully short of how she felt. Even if they didn’t win, what Draco had done was far more than anything anyone had ever done for her. And he had no idea that her heart had turned toward him that day when he’d found her at the café. That with every article, she had respected him more and more. That the sight of him now made her heart race and her palms sweat and her throat go dry. 

Hermione watched as a few people approached him, including a strikingly beautiful woman with long, straight brown hair. They embraced and then began to speak closely. Hermione’s breath caught as she noted that the woman’s body language screamed desire. Perhaps Draco had found someone else after all, and had really given up all hope of _her_. Thanks to Luna, Hermione knew he hadn’t been forced to marry before the deadline, but he could have started a relationship with someone. The woman was clearly a close acquaintance at the very least. Blaise soon joined them, and she hugged him too, but not with the same intimacy.

Hermione decided she needed some air, so she went to the loo. Afterward, she splashed cold water on her face, trying to still her mind. She’d been truly foolish to think he might hold the same regard for her after all this time when she’d done her best upon their lone meeting to quash his feelings. Of course he’d moved on. Of course he had. She’d seen it in writing repeatedly. She’d just never exactly believed it. Hope had lodged itself deep within her. 

She picked up the pieces of her aching heart and left the loo. Without much thought, she wandered the halls, heading always away from the courtroom. It wouldn’t do to be seen by anyone who might recognize her, and she couldn’t risk using her wand while inside the Ministry. With some effort, she found an empty, quiet hallway which branched off another quiet hallway to sit in and think while she waited for the decision. The hall itself was empty but after a few minutes, she heard a voice around the corner she knew all too well.

“Son, do you mean to tell me you’ve got no contingency?” It was Lucius Malfoy. Hermione’s heart started pounding and she sought refuge behind a potted plant. She was fairly well hidden, and unless they turned down the hall she was in, they likely wouldn’t notice her.

“What do you mean, Father?” Draco replied. Hermione shut her eyes tight, wishing she could disappear.

“I mean, what happens next? What about your appointment in January?” Lucius sounded concerned.

“Yes, that. I suppose if this doesn’t go my way, I’ll be using Hermione’s contingency plan.”

Her heart skipped a beat. They were so close, she held her breath. Then they stopped; she could just see the hem of someone’s cloak.

“And what exactly do you mean by that?” Lucius asked.

“I’ll leave England,” he replied easily, as though he’d considered the possibility already. “I won’t be showing up in January with a witch to marry. After all I’ve done to fight this law, how could I? It would be a betrayal, not only to myself, but to everyone who worked with me, who signed the petition. Maybe I’ll go to Spain after all.”

“Spain? Now, Son, we aren’t seriously going to ask you to find a bride in Spain,” Lucius remarked.

“I know,” Draco replied. “It was an attempt at humor. Dark humor. Who knows? Maybe I’ll go to... to France.”

The way Draco said it made her almost gasp. She had to bite her lip to keep quiet. It must have made in impact on Lucius, as well. 

“Why, Draco?” he asked carefully. “What’s in France?”

Draco laughed. “Perhaps Charlotte de Hauteterre has a great-great-grand cousin who’s available.”

Lucius let out a breath, as did Hermione. “I thought … this was all done for her, to … to win _her_ over.”

Draco sighed. “Who, Hermione? I didn’t do this to win her over. I have no idea if she even knows this is happening, Father. How would I?”

“You’ve … not been in contact with her then,” Lucius said heavily, something like dread lacing his words.

“No,” Draco replied firmly. “As I’ve said to everyone who has asked me! This isn’t about her. Perhaps you thought that once this was over, if the court ruled in my favor, I’d go on a grand adventure to find her? To tell her that I’d single-handedly battled all the bureaucratic forces at the Ministry for her? And then she’d simply fall into my arms and return home with me?”

Lucius chuckled lowly. “You’ve quite an imagination, Son.”

“You’ve no idea,” Draco mumbled. 

The chime sounded then. “That was quick,” observed Lucius. “Not a good sign.”

Draco sighed. “No, it’s not. Before we go back, I just want to say that I wish… I wish many things had gone differently. But if they had, I wouldn’t be here. Now. Doing this. And there’s nothing I would change about this journey, even if I could. I have to go. See you after.”

Hermione heard them both walk away and once she was certain she wouldn’t be noticed, she hurried to find a seat.

The Right Honorable Witch was back at her seat, the court filing into theirs. The room was silent. When everyone was seated, the Right Honorable Witch began. 

“The Marriage Law is one of the oldest in the country, predating even the Wizengamot. Its contingencies allow for its use at any time the population is threatened. It’s been used a handful of times over the last six hundred years because, according to Mr. Malfoy, wizarding kind can’t seem to fix the actual problem.” 

She stopped and looked pointedly at Draco. “After all that we put you through to get to this hearing, I wish I could say that this was a difficult decision. I wish I could say that we’d argued and wrestled with the facts, that we’d deliberated for hours. Bear witness that it took only forty minutes. I believe it was the fastest decision in the history of this Court.

“Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Zabini, please rise.”

They did so. Hermione couldn’t look at Draco then, instead keeping her eyes fixed on the Right Honorable Witch as she addressed Draco.

“The Lesser Court has heard you, twice now. And we thank you for your efforts to bring this matter before us. I admit, I thought you were on a fool’s errand, something spurred by wounded pride or spurned love—likely both. Instead, I have watched you swallow that pride, humble yourself, and walk a very difficult road, mostly alone. Still, it wasn’t until very recently, this week, in fact, that I questioned the outcome of this hearing. Mr. Malfoy, the Court was deeply moved by your testimony here today. We _do_ know your story, and that of your parents. They both came to us this week and spoke positively of your efforts. You are right: if one of the oldest pure-blood families in this country can begin to not simply peek over but instead actively tear down the walls that divide us, then we all can. Congratulations. We’ve found in your favor.”

The room erupted. Draco and Blaise hugged each other, grinning. Hermione couldn’t breathe normally, she was so overcome.

The Right Honorable Witch banged her gavel. The room quieted, but it couldn’t be completely silenced. “All marriages bound by the Law are hereby annulled, effective immediately. Anyone wishing to appeal this and remain married has seven days; the appeals will be granted.”

Another chorus of cheers went up.

Hermione noticed that Draco was still watching the Right Honorable Witch, expectant.

“On the … other matter,” she continued, her smile faltering, “that of the trial and conviction of Miss Granger, we are unable to rule, as it falls under the purview of the Wizengamot.”

Draco’s face fell a fraction and only for an instant before he’d masked his disappointment.

“However, the Chief Warlock joined our deliberations and informed us that all charges and convictions against Hermione Granger have been dropped. She is no longer an enemy of the Ministry and if she chooses to return, it will be with our most sincere apologies.”

Draco’s expression was triumphant at last. He nodded to the Right Honorable Witch.

“It is our earnest desire to see your vision realized, Mr. Malfoy. Your work has only just begun. Thank you. We’re adjourned.”

Draco clapped Blaise on the shoulder, and the beautiful woman from before returned to his side before Hermione’s view of them was obscured. She blinked, astonished at what had just happened. She felt … untethered. This whole meeting had been about her, and yet it wasn’t. Her presence, her input, had not been required, to weigh in on the matter in which she was a principal player. It was strange, knowing that she was a primary victor in the decision, while not being required to be present. As before, she felt extremely conspicuous, as though everyone around her would turn to her and congratulate her. Naturally, that didn’t happen, as no one around her knew who she was. No one even knew she was there.

The realization struck her that this night was about Draco, not her; the victory was his, not hers. She was simply a lucky recipient of part of his success. This knowledge settled her a little, it took some of the weight off her heart. She had much to be thankful for, of course, but Draco had not done this for her. And that made all the difference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more to go after this one!

**CHAPTER SEVEN  
November 4**

Hermione suddenly wanted to see someone she knew, but the room was chaos. She made her way out of the Ministry and back through the Visitors’ Entrance to the car she’d rented in France. She wanted desperately to see Harry and Ron, but she also needed some time to think. After a moment of deliberation, Hermione decided to go see her parents.

As she drove to the other side of London, where her parents had a flat, she thought about Draco, and about how she had no idea what should happen next. She wanted nothing more than to talk to him, to hear all about his work, but then, how could it not be painfully awkward? With everything that had transpired since the Law went into effect, could they return to their prior friendship?

No, of course not. He’d all but professed his love for her in Lyon, and she’d proceeded to refuse him completely. Unapologetically. No. The work he’d done to reverse the Law had been done for him, not them.

Perhaps the feelings she’d developed weren’t really romantic in nature. Perhaps they were simply … friendship, one deeper than they’d had before, deeper than any she’d ever known. Deeper than before, but not more than before. Or she felt respect for him, admiration, appreciation. All those things he’d said in his interview that he wasn’t seeking from her. She felt them anyway.

She truly didn’t know. She did recognize the pangs of jealousy upon seeing the other woman so familiar with him. Still, it might not be true romantic jealousy.

As Hermione neared her parents’ new home, she sensed a magical presence and stopped the car. If she looked very carefully, she could just make out a very faint shimmer every now and then. Her heart sank; it looked as if the Ministry had put up a kind of alert field around her parents’ home, in the event she’d tried to go there. She could just see the front door. But as she hadn’t officially returned to England, she didn’t want to alert the Ministry to her whereabouts. As far as they knew, she was still out of the country.

Disappointed, Hermione decided at once to try and see Harry. He would have something helpful to say; he always did. Even if it was idiotic, it would make her laugh. He and Ginny lived in a small magical community outside of London. A magical alert field would do no good there, though there might be a similar kind of watch on her best friend’s house. She thought she’d have a better chance of being undetected in Harry’s neighborhood, though, especially if she didn’t use any magic.

It took just forty-five minutes to drive there. Of course, a car was an odd sight in a magical village, so she left it outside the main entrance and walked in. 

The night was nippy, even for November. Hermione bundled up with extra layers to avoid being recognized, should she encounter someone out for an evening stroll. She met no one, and within minutes, she was standing on her friend’s doorstep. Her stomach was twisted with nerves. She hadn’t seen her friends in over a year, and she was anxious about surprising them. What would they say? Would they be angry? Would they welcome her?

Of course they would, it was ridiculous to think otherwise. She knocked quickly, before her thoughts could go down that road of doubt again. She heard Ginny’s voice as she neared the door, yelling to someone inside the house.

Ginny’s eyes went wide, her jaw dropped when she opened the door. Then she flung her arms around Hermione’s neck.

“Hermione! Oh my stars—are you really here?”

“Yes!” she replied, all anxiety melting and a ridiculously huge grin plastered on her face.

Ginny pulled back to look at her. “How is this possible? I mean, they _just_ overturned the Law a few hours ago, and—wait—were you _there_?”

“Was who where?” Harry asked, coming into view. His face brightened like the sun when he saw her. “Hermione!”

Hermione loved Ginny, but there was nobody like Harry, her truest friend. She folded into his embrace.

“Oi, Harry, who—”

Hermione looked up to see Ron’s eyes wide as saucers. “Ron!” she exclaimed happily, releasing Harry to hug her other best friend. Tears pricked her eyes.

“Hullo, Hermione,” said Luna, standing beside Ron. 

“Luna!” Hermione gasped, her brain finally kicking in again. “Oh, I—I didn’t expect—” She pulled away and looked at her friends. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Only a celebration,” said Ron with his goofy grin.

“Of what?” she asked.

“You, of course,” said Harry. “Well, I guess technically we’re celebrating because Draco and Blaise won and you’d get to come home, but here you are already!”

Ginny cleared her throat.

Hermione looked at her and saw that her friend’s gaze was directed elsewhere in the room. Hermione followed it and found herself looking right at Draco. It felt as though all of the air in the room had been sucked out, and her vision seemed to cloud around the edges. Then she saw that Blaise was beside Draco, and they were both standing in the doorway between the kitchen and living room. She forced herself to breathe. Then Hermione registered other people, too. The beautiful woman from the courtroom was on Draco’s other side. There was Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott and his wife Matilda, and Ron’s wife Chelsea, whom he’d met through his work with George. 

No one spoke as Hermione and Draco stared at each other. For all of his high-mannered upbringing, Draco looked remarkably uncomfortable. 

Hermione’s heart pounded as she made a decision. She crossed the room to him and stopped a few feet in front of him. She knew everyone knew their story, but she tried to pretend no one else was there. Just for a moment, to calm her nerves, it was only the two of them.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice strong.

Draco’s expression was impassive but his eyes were intense. Before he could reply, she turned to Blaise. “Thank you, Blaise,” she said, more easily.

“We didn’t do it for you,” he said with a kind smile.

“I know that. I do. However, I’m no longer one of the Ministry’s most wanted.”

Blaise chuckled. “Well, I suppose that part _was_ for you.”

Hermione could feel Draco’s gaze on her, but before she was forced to think of what to say or do next, Ginny took her by the arm. “Come help me,” Ginny said. She pulled Hermione through the house and into her and Harry’s room, locked the door and Charmed it soundproof.

Hermione sank onto the bed, her hands shaking, her mind spinning. “I... I have so many questions! What’s going on? Why is Draco here?”

Ginny sat on the bed beside her. She spoke slowly, carefully, as though afraid Hermione might blow something up. “Well, we’re celebrating. And Draco’s our friend. After you left, he sort of insinuated himself into our lives. He wanted us to help him find you—tell him where you were, more like—and we wouldn’t, obviously, but then… He and Harry get on ridiculously well. It’s amazing, Hermione. And when he and Ron come over to listen to a match on the wireless… I have to pinch myself because Draco Malfoy has his feet on my coffee table. And we really, truly like him, not to mention that he genuinely cares about you … Harry won’t hear a word against him.”

Hermione barked an awkward laugh. “Draco, he’s… your _friend_. He’s friends with all of you.”

“Mm-hmm. Pansy, Blaise, Theo too,” Ginny replied. “Though not like Draco.”

Hermione took a few breaths, trying to still her heart and her nerves. What a difference a year could make! When she’d left, she’d been the only one on friendly terms with Draco or any of the former Slytherins. “All right. I can handle this. I can. You’re friends with him. All of you. With all of them.”

“Are you all right?” Ginny asked, concerned.

“It’s just … surprising. I had no idea.” How right Draco had been when he’d said she couldn’t stay away from England. To think of all that she’d missed in just a year! It was sobering and unsettling. She’d been prepared to leave everything behind for her convictions, and while she still felt that way, the reality of it hit her square between the eyes. At least she could be thankful that the separation was over.

Ginny gave Hermione’s hand a squeeze. “Of course not. We’ve had practically no contact with you in ages. So, how was it? Seeing him just now?”

Hermione couldn’t hide the distress she felt. The day had been too full, her emotional tank empty after going through the gamut of emotions she’d experienced before even reaching their house. “Honestly? I’ve no idea how to act around him. He’s done this huge, incredible … thing … on my behalf—no, not just for me, of course—and I feel like I don’t even know who he is anymore, if I ever did. We used to work together, and we’d become friends, but….” She trailed off, unsure just how much of the truth she should reveal.

“But…?” Ginny prodded.

“I’m completely overwhelmed,” Hermione admitted. “What do you say to someone after that?”

“You said thank you,” Ginny pointed out.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “As though ‘thank you’ could ever be enough.”

“Remember, he didn’t do it for—”

“Me, yes, I’ve heard,” Hermione bit out, surprised at how irritated she was. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to snap at you.” She sighed. “He didn’t do it _for_ me, perhaps, but he did it _because of_ me. Because I wouldn’t even entertain the idea of returning to England. To marry him.” 

“That’s... true,” Ginny said slowly. 

“He took all of the words I angrily threw at him when he found me, and instead of deflecting them with the massive walls he’s lived behind his entire life, hiding behind them and licking his wounds, he listened. He stepped out from around those walls and allowed himself to be changed. He opened himself up to failure, ridicule, slander, gossip—all because of me. He—” She had to stop a moment to collect her thoughts. “He did more for me than anyone I have ever known. I can’t... ever hope to convey all of that to him. How do I even begin?” 

Ginny studied her for a moment. “What exactly happened in Lyon?”

Hermione shook her head. “Nothing. We were together maybe twenty minutes, sitting at a cafe on the river. It didn’t end well.”

“Yet you were flattered?” Ginny suggested. Hermione nodded. “And you started thinking about him?” 

She nodded again. “I’d never have wanted such a public reunion. I... I should leave and...” She trailed off, unsure of where she could go, except back to Lyon. Even that sounded exhausting, requiring a drive back to France. It would be after midnight before she could even think about Apparating from Calais to her flat. 

“Stay,” Ginny urged. “We want to see you. Harry and Ron have missed you. For dinner at least? It’s almost ready.”

Hermione hesitated. Of course she wanted to talk with her friends, but Draco was there, and every second she would be hyper aware of his presence and of everything unsaid or not thought between them. “Sure. But I’m not sitting near Draco. I can’t right now.”

“It’s a big crowd,” Ginny assured her. “You’ll be on the end with us. Now, take a minute, gather yourself, then join me in the kitchen.”

Hermione agreed and Ginny left. It took every ounce of her courage to leave the bedroom. She headed directly for the kitchen, not looking to her right or her left for fear of catching his eye. Harry and Ginny were the only ones there. Ron and Luna followed her in.

“Were you at the hearing?” Harry wanted to know. 

She stood with her back to the door so she didn’t have to chance seeing Draco. “I was,” she replied.

“How?” Ron asked, incredulous. “You’re bloody Hermione Granger. Everyone knows you. Did you use a glamour?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I drove in,” she said, relaxing a bit. Arguing with Ron was something she could do in her sleep. “Took the Chunnel from France, drove to London. Used the Visitor’s Entrance. No magic required.”

“And your wand inspection?” Harry asked.

She shrugged. “It was easy to blend in.”

“Bloody hell, Hermione! That’s incredible!” Ron exclaimed boisterously.

“Been at this awhile, have you?” she teased, pointing to his drink.

He grinned and took a swig.

“Let’s go, everyone. Dinner’s on,” said Ginny. She rounded up all the guests and told them where to sit. 

Harry helped her get all of the food on the table, then sat down at one end. “Thank you all for being here to celebrate what Draco and Blaise did today, not just for Hermione, but for all of us, really.”

The group chorused, “Hear, hear!”

“That said, Ginny’s an amazing cook, so let’s tuck in, shall we?” He grinned and got started, everyone following suit.

Hermione was grateful to be seated between Harry and Luna, with Ginny, Ron, and Ron’s wife, Chelsea, across from her. The arrangement did separate the table somewhat obviously, with the former Slytherins at one end, but for Hermione’s nerves, she didn’t care. For the first few minutes, she just enjoyed listening to her friends talk and gleaning what she could about their lives over the last year. 

She didn’t miss, for example, the way Luna’s eyes strayed to where Blaise was sitting on the other side of Chelsea, nor the way his were practically glued to her when she wasn’t paying attention. Hermione didn’t want to look much past Blaise. Beside him was Pansy, with Draco at the end opposite Harry. Theo sat between Luna and his wife, with the mystery woman occupying the final seat at the table. That she sat nearest to Draco also didn’t go unnoticed.

“So, Hermione, what did you think?” Luna asked. “About the proceeding?”

She felt all eyes on her but she held Luna’s gaze. “I was … astonished. It was incredible,” Hermione replied, willing her hands not to shake.

“Wait. Are you suggesting you were there? Tonight? At the hearing?” Blaise asked, his expression one of surprised admiration.

“Did you think she just randomly showed up here tonight?” Ron asked, as though Blaise were an idiot for asking. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. Thank Merlin for Ron’s moronic comments that set her more at ease than anything else. “You only found out ten minutes ago, Ron. Don’t be a dolt. Yes, Blaise, I was there. As I told some already, it is quite easy to arrive in the country non-magically if one knows how.”

“But sneaking through the front entrance is still a feat,” Ron argued with a slight pout.

“Yes, well,” she said, her cheeks pinking. Normally, she wouldn’t mind talking about her talents with magic, but today, with everything, she mostly wanted to fade into the background. “Be that as it may.”

“How did you feel?” Luna asked, her brow furrowed, her eyes intense. 

Hermione wanted to melt into the floor. All attention was still looking at her, and the last thing she wanted to do was spill her feelings on what had happened to everyone in the room. “I’m afraid I can’t put it into words,” she replied curtly. 

“Draco!” Ginny called, sending Hermione into a wild panic. “What were your thoughts on the proceedings?”

He seemed surprised at being brought into the conversation. “I was obviously happy with the result. I thought we argued our case well.”

“Bloody brilliant, you mean,” said Ron, raising his glass to Draco. 

Draco said nothing, just shrugged. “I’m glad the members of the Court were willing to hear us.”

Theo cleared his throat and spoke up. “Those of us at this end of the table aren’t sure what’s going on, exactly. We aren’t the least bit accustomed to a modest Draco Malfoy. I’m beginning to wonder if he’s been Confunded.”

“I was just thinking that,” Pansy agreed with a slight shudder. “It’s scaring me a bit.”

Draco smirked at his friends. “Fine. I was awesome.”

Everyone cheered, and Draco seemed to relax by a few increments. “A toast!” said Harry, magically filling everyone’s champagne glasses. “To Draco and Blaise.”

Everyone drank. “Speech!” called Theo.

Draco chuckled. “I’ve already done my speech for the day. Blaise?”

He shook his head. “That’s not my thing, mate.”

“Speech!” said Ron, pounding a fist on the table good-naturedly.

Draco finally stood. Hermione was happy to see him more relaxed. In fact, he now seemed quite at ease and more himself. She’d have to thank Ginny for her move to put the spotlight on him—where it belonged. He was in his element.

Draco thought for a moment. “That was the best thing I’ve ever done.”

“Hear, hear!” called Theo, and the others echoed him.

“The hardest, but the best,” Draco concluded, then drank and sat down.

“I’ll toast that,” said Pansy, taking a sip from her glass. 

“I was so pleased about your parents,” Hermione said, addressing Draco directly while everyone else was talking. She’d hoped they could converse just for a moment without much fanfare, but all other conversation halted.

He smiled warmly, almost but not quite able to lift his gaze to meet hers. “Yes. Me too.”

“What’s next for you, Draco?” asked Luna. “Will you be going after another terrible law? Or should we save this for the interview?”

Draco’s eyes went wide. “Oh, I—Merlin, no. I don’t intend to make a career out of this. I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Are you going to ask me this tomorrow?”

“Of course. It’s a very natural question, considering,” replied Luna. “People will want to know what you plan to do next. Now that you’ve taken on the Ministry—and won, spectactularly—there will be many who expect you to do more.”

Draco looked remarkably uncomfortable. 

“There’s always house-elves,” said Luna wistfully, winking at Hermione. 

All of Hermione’s friends looked at her. She felt her cheeks flush. 

Draco met her eyes, then looked around the table. “What am I missing?”

“Hermione’s had this obsession with house-elf rights since fourth year,” Ron said with a slight whine.

“Oh, right. I remember something about that.” Draco’s brow furrowed in thought. “I believe we had quite a few laughs over it, though I can’t recall why.” 

Ron spoke again. “She got it into her head that house-elves should be freed. And she called it Spew!” 

“Paid, Ron,” she snapped. “Paid. And freed, if they want. Because they are basically slaves! How can you be okay with that?”

“Because that’s what they _do_ ,” Ron stated emphatically. “That’s their job!”

“Enough,” said Harry to both of his friends. “This issue will not be solved tonight, and our guests don’t want to hear you argue.”

“Yeah, and your friends don’t want to hear it for the billionth time,” muttered Ginny. 

“Oh no, please go on,” said Blaise with a snicker. 

“I’d rather not,” Hermione said, trying to think of a way to steer the conversation back to Draco. Then Pansy asked Matilda a question and Ron started talking to Harry. Hermione realized she’d not been introduced to the witch who’d been with Draco at the Ministry. She leaned over to whisper to Luna. “Who’s the woman sitting between Matilda and Draco?”

“That’s Anna, Blaise’s erstwhile wife,” Luna replied.  
“Oh!” Hermione felt somewhat relieved at learning Anna’s identity. However, upon further reflection, she realized that this wasn’t just some random woman; Anna had worked with Draco and Blaise against the law, and had therefore spent a lot of time with them. Knowing how she felt about Blaise, it would be so natural for Anna to fall for Draco. And Hermione’s instincts told her that Anna was most certainly interested in him. 

Over the next thirty minutes or so, Hermione drifted further and further out of the conversation. The group around her had clearly formed solid bonds that she’d taken herself out of, and she simply didn’t quite fit. She knew it wouldn’t last, but as the time stretched, she found herself quite tired and decided she should leave and find somewhere to stay for the night. Hermione had no interest in returning to Lyon that night. If the celebration had shown any signs of winding down, she’d have asked to stay with Harry and Ginny, but Harry had just opened another two bottles of wine and Ginny’s cake hadn’t even been cut yet. 

As much as she hadn’t wanted a public reunion with Draco, she also felt strange not feeling the same familiarity she’d felt with him when they worked together. And perhaps she felt the distance more keenly with him than with anyone else because of her heightened interest in him. 

Hermione stifled a yawn just as he laughed at something Anna said, and Hermione decided she couldn’t sit there any longer. She’d figure out where to go once she was out of the house, away from him and Anna, where the weight of everything that had happened didn’t feel so suffocating. 

She placed her napkin on the table, instantly drawing the attention of most of the people on the other end of the table—and Luna—who knew that the motion signified she was about to get up. 

“Thank you all for allowing me to crash your party. Dinner was fantastic, Ginny.” Hermione smiled at her friend. “I really ought to be going. I am exhausted from the day, and I should drop in on my parents before I head back home.” No one needed to know that she wouldn’t actually see her parents. Plus, they would all assume she’d stay with them.

“Home?” said Harry, alarmed. The room went quiet. “Aren’t you… already home?”

Hermione thought she felt Draco staring at her intently. She cleared her throat, refusing to look in his direction. “Oh, right, well, yes. Only I do have a job in Lyon that I have to quit. I’ll need to finish my time there, though. I’ve a flat to take care of, things to pack….” Her mind started spinning.

“A Frenchman to break up with?” Luna offered.

Hermione’s cheeks flushed, and she wanted to crawl under the table. “Um, no. That… that’s done.”

“So you’re coming back, right?” Ron said insistently.

She smiled at him. “Yes. I can let you know more when I know something. Maybe I can come back Friday for the weekend. Can I stay here?” she asked, addressing Harry and Ginny.

“Of course,” Ginny said.

Hermione forced herself to look at Draco. “Really, your speech was excellent. Congratulations again.” She bit her lip, wishing there was something more she could say. But everyone was watching her, waiting, and she felt more than anything that she needed to get out. It was starting to get hard to breathe. “Right then. Well, all right, good night everyone. Don’t get up,” she said when Harry stood. “I know my way out.”

He nodded and Hermione got out of the dining room as quickly as she could. She took a few deep breaths in the hallway before continuing to the door. She was so close— _so close_. It was all she could do not to break into a run. Her heart pounded for relief from the constant tension she’d felt since discovering Draco in her friends’ home. She didn’t know what she’d do once she crossed the threshhold, but at least then she’d be able to breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

Just as she reached the door, freedom a heartbeat away, she heard footsteps. 

“May I see you out?” Draco asked stiffly.

“Out the door?” she asked, feeling instantly ridiculous for the question.

He clenched his jaw, his gaze directed just over her shoulder. “I would like a moment to talk to you, if that’s all right.”

“Oh. Of course.” As her hand was already on the knob, she proceeded to open the door and walk through it. Draco followed her, closing it behind him. She descended the short stair set and walked down the sidewalk, heading toward the little white fence that surrounded Harry’s property. She stopped a little way from the gate. 

Draco followed her, staring at the ground as he stopped a few feet behind her, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. He looked up at her through his fringe, an almost apologetic smile on his face. They looked at each other for what felt like an eternity before he spoke. “I have imagined this moment for a long time,” he began. “And I have two things I need to say to you. All I ask is that you listen. Then we never have to speak again.”

She frowned, startled. Surely he didn’t mean they would _never_ speak to each other! Why would he say that? Her heart started to race. “All right.”

“First, I have to thank you.”

She blinked in surprise. “Thank… _me_?”

He nodded. “Thank you for being you. For being you, who rejected me so easily when I came to bring you back. For telling me—shouting it, at times—all of the reasons why you couldn’t even consider fulfilling the Marriage Law. If it hadn’t been for what you said and, equally as important, the way you said it, I don’t think I’d have come home and made the decision I made to fight it. And I meant what I said in there. This is the best thing I’ve ever done.”

“Draco, you shouldn’t be _thanking_ me for that,” she said, feeling ashamed of how she’d treated him that day. 

“No, I should,” he argued gently. “I’ve learned more about myself and more about this world in the last year than I ever thought possible. I’m better for it. For what your conviction forced me to face.”

Hermione shook her head. This wasn’t going at all how she’d imagined their reunion. Tears threatened, but before she could make any reply, he continued.

“I also want… _need_ … you to know something. I did this, all of this…. I need you to know that I did this the right way, Hermione.” His voice was so earnest that it made her feel sick. She wasn’t about to lose him, was she? Him being with someone else, like Anna, was one thing, but this was starting to feel entirely too final. “I did it for all the right reasons. I’ve never done anything like it before. Because you were right. So right. In everything you said. And I’m grateful to have heard it. I’m glad I had your friends to talk to because they helped me move toward this.” 

“Draco—”

“I will always be grateful. Good night.” He took a step back, nodded slightly, and turned to go back into the house.

“Wait,” she called, taking two steps toward him. He stopped just before the steps and faced her, his expression wary. “I have just one question for you. And then _I_ will leave _you_ alone.”

“Go on,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the handrail. 

She didn’t really know where to begin but she knew she couldn’t let it end. She took a few more steps toward him. He was just a few feet away now. If she stretched, she could touch his hand. “You… you said a lot of things. In interviews, quotes, and so on. A lot of things along those lines—of doing this because it was right. You said, repeatedly, that you gave up hope. That you had to let me go. That in the end, you had to be okay with never seeing me again.”

His brow furrowed, his eyes searching hers. He only nodded. 

“It’s just… I have to know… Did you really— _really¬¬_ —give up all hope?”

Draco frowned deeply, his expression conflicted. He seemed to consider her for a moment before he spoke. “Well, no. Hell no.” Something like relief started to bloom in her chest. “But... also, yes.”

Hermione swallowed hard, the sensation stalling. 

He shook his head. “You’d made it so abundantly clear that there was no point in any hope.”

“I know,” she said. “I did what I had to do. I needed you to come back here and forget about me, so that you could move forward with your life.” 

He nodded, his gaze drifting to something up the road. “You were quite effective in your aims. I _did_ have to forget about you in order to keep going. But the heart... it’s a strange thing. It wouldn’t let me completely extinguish the tiniest flame of hope. I had to push it down, of course. Relegate it to the deepest parts of me, hidden from light and anything that might fan it.” He chuckled humorlessly. “You completely crushed me.”

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. “I truly hated doing it.” 

Draco crossed his arms over his chest. “You did what you had to do.”

She nodded, tears threatening to spill. She’d damaged their tenuous relationship beyond repair. “I am so sorry.”

He looked away again. “There were days, especially in the last few months, when I thought the hope had died completely. It was only when I thought it was gone that I realized it had still been there at all.”

“And tonight? How did you feel when you saw me?” She felt the first tendrils of dread reaching into her own heart, where nothing _but_ hope had flourished since he’d found her in Lyon. 

His expression was thoughtful once more. “Honestly? I felt like I’d been punched in the gut, or took a Bludger to the head. Had the wind knocked out of me. I was... speechless.”

She tried not to let her disappointment show; his words were not exactly what she’d hoped to hear. It would seem that all of her increasing admiration of him, even her fledgling feelings for him, would come to nothing. It was no less than she deserved, of course. She’d meant to push him away, completely away, to give him no hope of her ever coming back or returning any of his affections. She had done exactly what she’d meant to do; it was only a cruel twist of irony that had brought her to a place where she wished she hadn’t done such a stellar job. 

“I understand,” Hermione said eventually. She mentally gathered herself. Her world had been twisted three hundred and sixty degrees in the last two hours, and her mind was spinning with an unpredictable array of ‘what-ifs?’ Her job, Lyon, the Ministry, her friends, her parents, Draco’s friendship with her friends—too many data points were bombarding her for attention. “Thank you for answering. Good night, Draco.” Without waiting for a response, she turned to go, biting her lip to keep the tears at bay until she was alone. 

“Hold on,” he said, grabbing her arm before she could take two steps away. 

Hermione whirled around but couldn’t look him in the eye, so she concentrated on the spot where his hand rested, just above her elbow. She bit her lip. 

“Why did you ask me that?” Draco’s expression was one of determination, of earnestness. Of pleading, almost. He released her and took a step back, his brow furrowed in concern.

“Oh, um.” Now her thoughts were barreling over each other to respond. Self-preservation and a strong desire to flee vied with the powerful hope she’d harbored for months and the reality that he had stopped her, and— _what if_. 

In Lyon, he’d never actually told her he was in love with her, instead dancing around the idea and merely hinting at it, coming within a few bold syllables of that line from which, once crossed, he couldn’t retreat. He’d asked her to choose him, but he’d never expressed actual feelings for her, even though she could read them between all of his words, see them in his eyes. He’d held on to just enough that he could deny anything. She couldn’t blame him; even a profession of love wouldn’t have changed anything. But she wouldn’t do that to him. She wouldn’t dance and suggest and imply. She’d put him through too much, and though it had been necessary, he deserved better now. He deserved the whole truth.

Hermione took a deep, shaky breath. “Before the Law,” she began. He nodded, waiting for her to go on. “Before it was a whisper out in the world, I... I fancied you.”

Draco’s eyes went wide as plates. “You did what?”

She nodded, feeling a weight lifted at the admission. 

He sniffed a laugh, shaking his head. “I need to sit down.” 

The porch steps were wide enough for both of them to fit, and he motioned for her to join him. He leaned against the wall of the steps and faced her, his expression highly amused. She sat gingerly as far from him as she could get, facing the path front of her. 

“I fancied you,” she repeated. 

“How long?” he asked gruffly.

She didn’t know what purpose it would serve but she felt she owed him some answers. “Months, actually.” He laughed quietly to himself and shut his eyes, resting his head against the bricks. “But once the rumor of the Law started, I had to... stop. I had to put that out of my mind. Because I knew very early on that I wouldn’t be staying in England if the Law passed.”

Now he looked at her, intently, meeting her eyes with determination in his. “I understand why you did it. I really do.”

She couldn’t believe he’d taken her confession so easily. In her musings about meeting him again, she’d worried that he would be angry with her, that he would feel as though he’d wasted his time getting the Law overturned because they’d liked each other at the same time. It would be a completely reasonable thing to be upset about; she had expected it. Either she had misinterpreted everything he’d done since finding her in Lyon, or he really, truly understood her reasons and accepted them and believed they had value. It made her heart ache, made her feel more deeply the loss of him. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, tearing her gaze away. After a moment collecting herself, she continued. “I did my best to stop. And I think I would have been okay. But then... Draco, you found me. You searched for months to find me, and you came to ask me to come back home with you. It was the most... romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me. The results notwithstanding.”

“Romantic?” he repeated, surprised. 

Hermione nodded, flicking her eyes to his long enough to see that he was truly surprised. “You spent an enormous amount of effort to find me. I... I couldn’t imagine you doing that for any reason other than you wanted me to come back. Wanted ¬ _me_ to come back. But I never expected... this.” She spread her hands out, palms up. “That you’d fight the Law and get it overturned. How could I possibly have foreseen that?”

“I sure didn’t see it coming,” he muttered, turning on the step to face the same direction Hermione was facing. 

“Exactly. And... after you left, I acknowledged that you’d taken my breath away, and made me feel... wanted in a way I’d never felt before.” She laughed bitterly. “You finding me in Lyon, your entreaty to come back with you... I used that to quash your hopes, and yet it was the very thing that stirred mine.” Hermione felt his questioning gaze but she had to finish her thoughts. “Luna sent me the Quibbler with your first interview. And everything after it about your work. Draco, I....” Hermione felt her stomach clench with nerves at what she was about to do. It felt something like being on a roller coaster at the top of a steep climb, the moment after you tip over the edge and right before you start falling. 

“I... fell in love with you.” The rebound of those nerves was so intense she had to catch her breath. “Well, as much as one can via news clippings. And I let myself entertain the thought that you _were_ doing all of this for me. Despite what you claimed in those interviews.” She stopped talking and silently begged him to speak. When he didn’t, she realized she had one more thing to say. “When I saw you tonight, I’d hoped there would be something—anything—to make me believe that you still felt for me the way you did once before.” Now she was quiet and was content to let him speak when he was ready. It felt cathartic letting all of this out, like a cleansing rush. Even if he didn’t answer her hope, telling him the truth was the right thing to do.

When moments passed with no response, she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He was peering at her, a look of intense concentration on his face. She supposed she should be grateful that he wasn’t angry. Still, the moment stretched, and she couldn’t look away. His gaze had captured her, and for some reason, it was stuck. 

There were only a few feet of cold, hard stone between them. It surprised her how quickly he crossed them, closing the distance in a fraction of an instant. He gently turned her face toward him and pressed his lips to hers. She was startled, but delightfully so, and eagerly kissed him back. It was the intensity of the kiss that surprised her, as though she had been dying of thirst and his lips alone could quench it. It was heavy and loaded and seared through her heart like a brand, and she grabbed his shirt to keep him from moving. Her other hand found purchase on the back of his neck, and it was the most amazing feeling. She let her fingers just ghost the wispy ends of his hair at the nape.

She was mentally settling in for a delicious snog when he pulled away, his eyes wild. They stared at each other for a moment, breathing heavily, neither quite sure what had just happened. 

Draco put a little space between them, but remained close enough that she could still feel his warmth. It was enticing. 

“That was....” He began, trailing off with a bewildered shake of his head.

“Far better than it logically should have been?” she offered. 

“Yeah.” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck where her hand had been just moments before. 

Hermione shivered. The silence stretched long until she finally spoke. “So... what now?” 

“Now?” Draco repeated, leaning back and resting his elbows on the step behind them. He seemed to be deep in thought for a few long minutes. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, low. “Tonight has been... well, far more than I can really comprehend.” He paused, meeting her gaze with a boldness she didn’t remember in him. “But I think it’s only fair that I’m completely honest.” 

“All right,” she said, feeling a slight sense of foreboding. 

“In Lyon, I was... afraid to tell you everything. How I felt. I thought if I could get by with not putting voice to my feelings, it would help me, somehow. Salvage some pride, perhaps, or help me to get over you.” Draco took a deep breath before he continued. “Because I was in love with you. I had been for... oh, many years.”

Hermione gasped. She’d suspected his feelings when he’d nearly-but-not-quite confessed them that morning on the Saône, but she’d never have guessed they’d been present for years.

“Granted, the feelings waxed and waned, as you might expect considering they started in second year.”

“No!” she blurted, unable to help herself. “What?” 

Draco nodded, somewhat glumly. “I was such a little sod, wasn’t I? But I fancied you, best I could at twelve, and then fought it for the next four years. I was successful, on occasion. Then sixth and seventh year, I lost all feelings anyway, and it was a few years after the war before I remember feeling much of anything. But then when we worked on the same floor, before being partnered, it started coming back.”

Hermione was stunned. It was her turn, apparently, to be rendered completely speechless. 

He shook his head with a sad chuckle. “I was too afraid to consider approaching you. I tried, again, to fight it. I ignored it, pushed it away, tried dating other people. I gave up all of that when we started working together, but I still couldn’t work up the courage to ask you out. And I was a complete coward once I learned of the Law. I figured that I’d loved you for so long that I had to be better for you than someone else. Surely, I could at least make you happy, if I could never be loved by you. And, perhaps, maybe, you’d eventually see me as more than simply the man you were married to.” 

Draco had rushed through that last bit, but now he stopped and faced her, taking her hand in his. “I apologize for being such a coward. I was not worthy of you in the slightest then. I’m different now, and I think I’m closer.”

Hermione’s heart was pounding, delightful flutters of happiness dancing through her senses. “Draco—”

He held up his free hand to indicate he had more to say. “There were times over the last six months when I allowed myself the freedom to imagine how things might look if everything went my way. If I won and the Law was overturned, if you came back unattached and for some reason let me into your life.... I even imagined, just once, what it would be like if you came back wanting me just like I wanted you.”

Hermione had to remind herself to breathe. 

“There was one thing I decided had to hold,” he said carefully, “in the event of that seeming impossibility. We would have to take this very slowly.”

“Slowly,” she repeated. Slowly was not exactly what Hermione had in mind, especially when she thought about that kiss. 

“Yes,” he said, trailing his fingers lightly across the skin on the back of her hand. “It’s vital for a number of reasons. But most importantly... we aren’t the same people we were all those months ago. I’ve changed a lot in the last year, and I’m sure you have too. I want to be sure both of us like who the other has become.” Draco looked her in the eye then. “At least, that’s what I want to happen.”

Hermione nodded, still processing what he’d said, all that had happened to her that day. In the course of a few mere hours, she’d gone from an enemy of the Ministry to being forgiven by the government, being legally betrothed to Draco via the Law to being completely free and welcomed home. Then she’d confessed the depth and strength of her feelings to Draco, and he’d turned around and shocked her with his own confession. 

“Hermione?”

“Sorry,” she replied quickly. “Are you saying you want to be with me?” 

He gave her a half-smile, half-smirk. “I think it’s safe to say there’s something between us, don’t you?”

Without thinking, she glanced at his lips, her cheeks pinking instantly when she realized. She shut her eyes tight. “I would say that, yes.”

“I’m not sure it’s wise to make anything... official... at this point. So in that sense, I think we must wait. But I want to move forward, however that looks. Is that not what you want?”

“I do!” she said with a rush. “I mean, yes, it is what I want. I simply wasn’t prepared for this!”

He chuckled. “Nor I. Yet here we are.”

Hermione marveled somewhat at his poise, his composure, his self-confidence. It was definitely something new about him, a trait forged over his experiences of the last year. He seemed calmly honest and unafraid of whatever she might say. Whereas she felt as though she were falling and might never stop. 

Draco threaded his fingers through hers, sending her stomach into delightful flips and flops. “Hermione. Let’s have coffee.”

Her mind spun into overdrive, thinking of all the things that could go wrong. He’d said they should take things slowly for many reasons, and her mind started supplying what those reasons might be. She still lived in Lyon and hadn’t even been officially welcomed back to England. She had a job there, a flat, a life. He had spent over a year in his efforts to bring her home, and had quit a job he loved for that cause. He’d championed a cause that, in his circles, wasn’t popular at first and was only grudgingly accepted later. 

Hermione’s eyes went wide. “Oh! If there’s any hint of anything between us, they might—”

“Yes, let’s... not worry about that tonight, shall we?” He smiled warmly. “It’s something we must discuss, of course, but there’s no hurry.”

“You’re right,” she replied. “It can certainly wait.”

Draco stood. “Where are you staying tonight?”

Hermione shook her head with a laugh. “I’ve no idea. I had no plan when I drove in, and I’m exhausted now. It wouldn’t be safe for me to try to drive back into France tonight.”

He nodded once. “You’ll stay here, of course, with your best friends. Tomorrow we can have breakfast.”

“Here,” she said in a rush. “I don’t want to risk being seen out with you.”

Draco casually put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “We can always go somewhere in Muggle London.”

She smiled, silently scolding herself for not thinking of it. “Absolutely.”

“It’s settled then. I’ll come over in the morning, and we’ll go together. You can... drive me around in that large box on wheels if you like.” 

“I would like that very much,” she said, unable and unwilling to keep from smiling. 

Draco held out a hand to help Hermione up. She let him guide her up the steps to the door of her best friend’s house, a hand pressed gently to the small of her back. Just as she was about to reach for the doorknob, he said, “Wait.”

She turned her head, a question in her eyes, but he quickly kissed her again, winding his hand around to her stomach. He pulled her close to him, her back to his chest, and hesitantly touched his tongue to her lips. Hermione was thankful for the support his arm was providing because she felt weak at the knees and liable to buckle under the intensity of the kiss. When it became clear he wasn’t planning on making this one short, she spun in his arms, reaching up to grasp his face and pull him closer. She stood on her toes to reach him better, and when she gently nipped his lip, Draco growled softly. Just when she thought they were dangerously close to going too far, standing outside in plain sight on Harry’s porch, he started to pull back, though he took his time. 

They were both breathing heavily, his eyes wild and dark as he stared at her. 

“What did you say about taking things slowly?” she asked, breathless.

He chuckled deeply and kissed her again, this time only lightly. “Yes, well, we’ll have to discuss the particulars of what exactly that means.”

She smiled up at him. “I can’t believe I almost missed this. Missed you.”

He grinned mischievously. “Feel free to show me just how appreciative you are.”

Hermione laughed and let Draco lead her back into Harry and Ginny’s home. There was much to consider, much to plan for and do. They had hurdles to clear that made her head spin if she started thinking about them. She had a job and the beginnings of a life elsewhere to leave, and her path home was anything but clear. Yet somehow, beyond all hope, her hand rested in his, and it was enough.

 

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh! I can’t believe it’s done! I’d hoped to post it last night, but I just didn’t make that happen. Wow, so, overfour years since I started this story, it’s over. Thank you to everyone who read it! Thank you tremendously for all the nice and encouraging comments on it. Many, many thanks to my beta, eilonwy. I’m so thankful I got to write this and actually finish it and share it. Yay!
> 
> The title of the story comes from a poem by Emily Dickinson:
> 
>  
> 
> “Hope” is the thing with feathers -  
> That perches in the soul -  
> And sings the tune without the words -  
> And never stops - at all –

**Author's Note:**

>  **AUTHOR’S NOTE** : So here’s a funny story. I started writing in 2006, and I abruptly stopped in 2010 after my daughter was born. Or, rather, I stopped being active in fandom or putting words on paper; I never really stopped _writing._ Just posting. Or finishing anything. This particular story was started in 2012. YES. TRUE STORY! It has taken me over 4 years to finish it. And the finished word count is only 26K. It’s crazy to me, because I used to be able to write and finish a story like this in less than a month during my “prime.” Anyway. Maybe most of you don’t even remember when I was actively writing, and that’s fine. But I’m totally still here, I still like to read, and I still love to write. So, who knows, maybe it’ll happen again. In another 4 years!
> 
> MANY MANY THANKS to my beta for this story, eilonwy! A good beta is worth her weight in gold, and eilonwy is one of the best! Seriously, betas make the world go 'round!


End file.
